


Particular Taste

by ForForever19



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Celebrity Crush, Coming Out, F/F, Faberry, First Time, Minor Angst, Secret Relationship, Social Media, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2020-05-15 05:26:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 151,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19289068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForForever19/pseuds/ForForever19
Summary: 'Rachel Berry’s favourite day of the week is probably Saturday.It’s probably nothing unique, given that she’s just one of many high school students who probably adores the freedom of the weekend, but it’s actually for an entirely different reason than what would be considered normal for a teenager.She’s never quite admitted it to anyone, but Rachel loves Saturdays because of one Quinn Fabray.'OR Rachel has a huge, secret crush on celebrity teen chef Quinn Fabray... and then Twitter happens.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I, by no means, claim to own anything remotely related to the Glee Universe. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> I tried very hard to make this as fluffy as possible (it was a struggle). I think we all deserve it, though. Also, while I use social media (I think I can't really say that, given my mother tells me to use Facebook more), I'm not really... good at it, so forgive me.

**I**

 

Rachel Berry’s favourite day of the week is probably Saturday.

It’s probably nothing unique, given that she’s just one of many high school students who probably adores the freedom of the weekend, but it’s actually for an entirely different reason than what would be considered normal for a teenager.

She’s never quite admitted it to anyone, but Rachel loves Saturdays because of one Quinn Fabray.

While the two girls have never met, Rachel adores the blonde. She waits with bated breath until eleven-fifty-nine every Saturday morning for the prettiest girl she’s ever seen to update her second of three weekly videos on her _YouTube_ channel, LatkesWithLucy.

She knows the channel was named as a joke by Quinn’s best friend when she first started out, and it makes Rachel smile whenever Quinn rolls her eyes after she introduces every new video. She always says she’s going to change the name, but she never gets around to it.

Secretly, Rachel thinks she likes it too much, despite what she says.

Rachel hasn’t told anyone about her secret crush. Her fathers are well aware she watches Quinn’s videos almost religiously, but the crush, itself, is... recent.

At least, she thinks it is.

This whole... gayness seems sudden, but it also might not actually be. She’s had a somewhat unhealthy obsession with Quinn - who was still Lucy back then - since she first watched her compete on _Top Chef Junior_ when she was just ten years old.

Lucy ended up coming in second behind the eventual winner, Tyler Giles, and Rachel still believes the girl was robbed. Granted, Tyler was three years older than her, and clearly more experienced, but still. She should have won. Rachel will stand by that until the day she dies.

So, Rachel has been following Quinn’s career for six years. Initially, she was really interested in food and cooking food, but now she’s worryingly interested in the chef behind the food.

Quinn doesn’t consider herself to be famous, but Rachel still views her as her first celebrity crush.

A girl one, that is.

Her first girl crush, at all. That she recalls, at least. Which caused quite the panic the first time she came to the conclusion she was actually staring at Quinn’s lips whenever she watched her videos. That started a series of events that gets her to this moment right here.

A Saturday in early November of her junior year of high school, and her finger hitting the refresh button on her laptop every few minutes. Quinn has been religious about her posting schedule, three videos per week, published on Saturdays, Sundays and Wednesdays.

While Rachel would like to say her favourite video is the Saturday one - despite it being her favourite day - it’s actually the Wednesday one that has probably graduated her harmless crush into something else completely.

Quinn actually _cooks_ on Saturdays. She tries out new recipes on camera, talks her viewers through the preparation and offers all sorts of tips. She makes it fun for kids to try out new dishes, and encourages them to participate whenever their parents are in the kitchen. It’s important to know what you’re eating and, while Quinn does indulge from time to time, the food she prepares is generally healthy.

The Sunday video consists of reactions from her friends and family regarding what she’s prepared. From it, Rachel has learned about Quinn’s parents, older sister, and closest friends.

But, Wednesday is when it’s all about Quinn and only Quinn. It’s the most informal video, with just Quinn and her laptop in the video frame. She just sits at her desk or on her bed and answers fan questions, or just tells little stories about how her week is going.

It’s when Quinn is the most real, and it’s why Rachel is certain she’s gay.

It’s a realisation that came on slowly, and then hit her like a ton of bricks. Smacked her in the face, really, and she’s been terrified to tell a single other soul.

It isn’t as if she thinks her fathers wouldn’t approve - it would be awfully hypocritical of them, really - but there’s a part of her that suspects they’re hoping she ends up completely straight.

The implications of being gay from a gay home in this stupid town can be astounding, and she’s definitely not ready to deal with that and what it'll inevitably bring to her life. Their family has suffered enough prejudice.

She’ll be the first to admit she was relieved when she developed her crush on Finn Hudson. She even went so far as to date him, which was one disaster after the other. They eventually broke up after it was revealed he slept with Santana and lied about it... which was just a few weeks ago, and Rachel still receives death glares from the Latina.

Well.

Rachel refreshes the screen again, and then jumps in place when she sees Quinn’s new video has been uploaded. It’s thirty-six glorious minutes long, and Rachel shifts into more of a comfortable position before opening the link in a new tab.

It’s amazing what merely the sight of the girl can do to Rachel’s breathing and beating heart. A smile spreads across her face as Quinn moves into view in the open kitchen setting and says the obligatory, “Good morning, good people. Welcome to Latkes with Lucy.”

Rachel giggles softly when Quinn pulls a face at the channel’s name.

“So, today, I thought we would make pizza.” She grins so widely that Rachel actually sucks in a sharp breath. “Personally, I don’t eat much of the stuff - my Coach would probably kill me if I did - but Noah is _obsessed_. I’m sure he would inhale it if he felt so inclined. He’ll be coming over later to try our creation, so you’ll be reminded of how much of a vacuum he is in tomorrow’s video.”

Rachel knows Quinn is talking about Noah Puckerman, who is Quinn’s best friend, and responsible for naming the _YouTube_ channel all those years ago.

For a while, Rachel thought they were dating, which made her feel irrationally angry. She now knows it was mostly jealousy that fuelled her emotions, but she knows now that Quinn and Noah are not, have not and will not ever be a thing.

Quinn claims to enjoy the single life, and she’s far too busy with school and cheerleading and trying to further her culinary career to focus on relationships.

Apparently, Quinn has known she wants to be a chef since she was seven years old, which is something with which Rachel can really identify. She’s known she wants to perform on Broadway since she was three years old, and it’s a dream she’s holding onto with all her might.

“We’re going to make three types of pizza today,” Quinn says. “Noah is an absolute meat lover, so that’s a no-brainier, but we’re also going to make a vegetarian one, and... a vegan one.”

Rachel automatically perks up.

“We’ll do the meat lovers on a thick base, which is Noah’s favourite, the vegetarian on a standard thin one, and the vegan is, well, it’s own other beast.” She smiles softly. “I got a few tweets about vegan options - dinah465, I heard you - so I thought we would give it a go. All the vegans out there, I commend you, and please don’t be too harsh. I’m trying.”

Rachel is so charmed.

So, so charmed.

“Let’s get started.”

Rachel usually watches the entire video completely through before she even attempts to try her hand at the recipes. Quinn posts the written recipes on her _Facebook_ page, so people can follow along, and Rachel usually does that on Sunday afternoons.

Quinn always encourages them to send her pictures of their creations, which Rachel has done a total of never. She’s too self-conscious of her cooking skills, but she’s definitely improved.

She thinks she’ll definitely try this vegan pizza, though, and possibly send it through. She doubts she’ll get a reaction from Quinn, but a girl can dream.

And, she has been dreaming.

She’s never quite felt this way before. She had a crush on Finn, definitely, but she never used to imagine conversations with him or think about them actually going on dates.

She’s come to the conclusion that she was mostly attracted to the _idea_ of Finn, and not the boy himself. Part of her thinks the same thing is happening with Quinn, but she can’t really be sure until, well, they actually talk.

Which is unlikely to happen, because Rachel doesn’t think she’s brave enough to put herself out there, and what on earth would Quinn want with a nobody from Lima, Ohio, anyway?

As Rachel watches the rest of the video, she makes small notes in her own culinary notebook. For the most part, she writes about the little tips Quinn offers, but she sometimes catches herself doodling hearts and initials in those hearts. LQF + RBB.

So, her crush is proving to be a bit of a problem, but there’s nothing to be done, and she's not entirely sure she even wants it to go away.

Today, though, she really pays attention when Quinn makes the vegan pizza, noting the girl’s furrowed brow and intense concentration. _She’s gorgeous_ , is what is constantly running through Rachel’s mind, even as she tries to concentrate on the words coming out of Quinn’s mouth.

She knows she’ll probably have to tell her fathers about her discovered sexuality at some point, but there’s a certain comfort to be found in holding onto this part of her. Everything else has been so exposed and ridiculed, and she’s enjoying the secret, even if it’s added unnecessary stress and fear and anxiety to her life.

It’s also brought a certain level of clarity, even relief. She _knows_ , and that goes a long way towards making her feel comfortable in her own skin.

Well, when she’s not at school, at least.

At school, she wants nothing more than to be invisible... but certain beings make that very difficult. As much as Rachel tries to go unnoticed, it’s almost as if the jocks and cheerleaders have Berry sensors, and come for her at every opportunity they can get. It’s definitely worse now that she and Finn are no longer dating. There’s more of a target on her back.

Her days can be horrible, and she hates that the same people who she’s claimed as her Glee family are also some of the ones who treat her the worst. If she were braver, she would quit completely, but she wants to make it to Nationals this year, and she kind of needs them.

So, she suffers through the abuse and ridicule, and holds onto the one shining light in her lacklustre life: Quinn Fabray.

When the video ends, Rachel is tempted to watch it again, just to hear Quinn’s voice. She has a few - okay, a lot of - videos saved for moments when she needs a Quinn kind of pick-me-up, which are mainly Wednesday videos. Sometimes, she likes to imagine Quinn is speaking directly to her, as if her words are said with Rachel in mind.

It’s ridiculous and childish, she knows, but she’s a little bit crazy about the girl, and it doesn’t seem to be going away any time soon.

With a sigh, Rachel switches to her _iTunes_ library on her laptop and plays a random song. Then she takes out her phone to check if Quinn has been active on _Twitter_.

She has. After a tweet about the recently uploaded video on pizza, there’s another tweet.

 **Quinn Fabray - @lucyquinnfabray  
**_I think I need to run a poll to figure out if you all really think kale chips should be a thing. Are they? Did I miss the memo? Was I absent that day? Someone please enlighten me_.

Rachel can’t help her smile. Quinn does this sometimes, openly engaging with her followers, and Rachel has tweeted her back twice before. It didn’t amount to anything, but she also doesn’t want to be one of those fans that constantly tries to get the girl’s attention.

Really, she’s a little terrified of what would happen if she actually did.

So, Rachel just likes the tweet, and then keeps scrolling. Her heart always beats a little faster whenever she realises that she has a pretty good idea of what Quinn is doing right this instant. She absently wonders how many other people feel the way she does about Quinn.

Quinn must have thousands of people with crushes on her. Probably even tens of thousands, based on the number of subscribers and followers she has. She’s also ridiculously pretty, with perfect teeth, the kind of hazel eyes that can pierce a person’s soul, silky blonde hair, cheekbones to die for, a voice from the angels and just an overall demeanour that’s all too inviting.

Rachel once read somewhere that crushes are supposed to last less than three months, and anything more is... dangerous.

It’s been more than three months.

It’s been almost six.

They’re way past dangerous, at this point.

 

* * *

 

Rachel’s vegan creation... sort of resembles a pizza. It obviously looks nothing like Quinn’s, but she’s oddly proud of her attempt. She doesn’t usually get to the final product, so this is a step-up for her.

She even braves taking a picture of it as it cools on the kitchen counter, and then tweets it at Quinn.

She doesn’t think she takes in a complete breath for almost three hours after that.

Earlier, she watched Noah devour an entire pizza, and Quinn’s mother, Judy, tried her vegetarian creation. Quinn’s the only one who was brave enough to try the cheeseless vegan pizza she prepared.

“Not... terrible,” she finally concluded and, when Rachel finally tried her own, she had to agree with the blonde.

It definitely could have ended up worse. Normally, one of her fathers supervises - she’s sixteen, for goodness’ sake - but she was given free rein this time. Her dinner’s sorted. Maybe. Sort of. If it doesn't kill her.

Her fathers are pleasantly surprised, and she tries not to pout. They like to tease her, and she appreciates the easiness of their relationship more than she’ll ever be able to tell them. She shudders to think about what her life would be like if she didn’t have supportive parents.

“Since when does Quinn try vegan recipes?” Hiram asks at the kitchen table. He’s also followed Quinn’s career, a fan of the adult _Top Chef_ himself. He’s also the one who’s encouraged Rachel’s interest by purchasing all three of the cookbooks Quinn has already released.

“Apparently, some of her followers have been asking her about it,” Rachel says, smiling.

“Are you one of those followers?” LeRoy teases.

Rachel can’t stop her blush if she tries. “No,” she says, which is the truth. She doesn’t think she could handle the stress of waiting on some kind of acknowledgement from Quinn, and she can barely keep a hold of herself right now.

Somehow, she manages to finish her dinner, absently does the dishes, and then goes upstairs to her bedroom to finish off the last of her homework and prepare her bag for the morning.

It’s almost ten o’clock when she finally checks her phone, and this is the moment when every part of her dull life changes.

Because -

Because.

 **Quinn Fabray - @lucyquinnfabray  
** _Definitely! This one looks awesome, @BroadwayBerry! I especially dig the Harry Potter dish towel in the background there - you’re definitely a girl after my own heart ;)_

  * **Rachel Berry - @BroadwayBerry  
**_Is it a masterpiece or what, @lucyquinnfabray? The vegans thank you for your consideration_. *photo*



And, Rachel is pretty sure she’s died and gone to heaven.

The shriek she lets out can be described as only inhumane. She almost drops her phone when she jumps up and down in excitement and disbelief and _ohmygod ohmygod_.

She’s still freaking out when Hiram comes running into her room, eyes wide with panic. “Rachel,” he shouts over her shrieking. “What on earth is going on?”

Rachel practically shoves her phone’s screen in his face. “Look!” she exclaims.

Hiram shifts back, eyes wide. “Sweetheart, what exactly am I looking at?”

“Quinn,” Rachel says excitedly, practically dancing in place. “She tweeted me, Dad. She knows who I am. Oh, my God, this is honestly the best day of my life.” She looks at her father. “Dad. Dad. Do you have any idea what this means?”

“I actually do not.”

“Quinn knows I exist,” she says, and her smile is so wide, her cheeks are starting to hurt. “Like, she knows, Dad. She _knows_. She totally tweeted at me. This is - this is incredible. I don’t even know what to do with myself. What do I do? Do I retweet her tweet?”

Hiram just stares blankly at her. “I think I should say yes.”

Rachel gasps. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes...?”

Rachel stares at her phone again, decidedly calmer than she was five minutes previously. “I have to retweet it,” she finally says. “I can’t not. The entire world has to know that Quinn Fabray has just made my entire life.”

Hiram can hear the slight wonder in her voice, and he honestly doesn’t know what to make of it. He’s never seen that look on his daughter’s face before, and he doesn’t know what it means.

“If you’ll excuse me, Dad,” she says, which is a dismissal if he’s ever heard one.

Hiram just gives her one last curious look, and then leaves her room with a slight frown on his face. He gets the feeling he’s missing something very important, but he just can’t put his finger on it. So, he leaves Rachel to continue her freakout.

Which she does for the next seven minutes, her finger hovering over her phone’s screen.

She’s uncertain.

As far as she knows, nobody from school actually follows her on _Twitter_. She has a measly thirty-seven followers, and most she’s quite certain aren’t even real people. In contrast, she follows 348 people, and Quinn is one of them.

She paces for another minute, and then just does it.

Retweet with a comment.

She has nothing to lose.

 **Rachel Berry - @BroadwayBerry  
** _MADE MY LIFE. I can die now. Thank you, @lucyquinnfabray!_

Her heart pounds when she posts it. Realistically, she knows nothing is going to happen, but she just can’t get her heart rate to slow. She can feel it beating right through her entire body, which makes getting to sleep profoundly difficult.

It comes to her eventually, exhaustion claiming her. She’s going to need all the rest she can get if she’s going to make it through another week from Hell.

What feels like mere seconds later, her morning alarm is going off, and she’s rolling herself out of bed. Monday’s are normally terrible, but they seem to be getting worse.

Still, Rachel has a near-perfect attendance record, and she’s not about to let bullies and ex-boyfriends keep her from school. She’ll just pack her extra clothes and hope she flies under the radar for the day.

She has breakfast with both her fathers, Hiram asking if she’s recovered after the day before. The memory brings a smile to her face, and she flushes under his gaze.

“Sorry if I scared you,” she says. “I was just really excited.”

“I could see that, Sweetheart,” he says, patting her forearm with his hand. “Did you eventually, uh, retweet? Is that the term? I can’t keep up.”

Rachel laughs softly. “Yes, Dad, I retweeted.”

“And?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I haven’t checked.”

Which is what she does the second she’s back in her bedroom after breakfast. It’s probably a good thing she’s eaten before she looks, because it’s doubtful she’ll ever remember to feed herself again.

Quinn tweeted her back.

Repeat: Quinn tweeted her back.

 **Quinn Fabray - @lucyquinnfabray  
** _No, don’t die, @BroadwayBerry! The world needs you vegans. Who else is going to lecture us about the moral, ethical and health benefits of kale chips? (I’ve begrudgingly accepted they’re actually a thing.)_

And, with that tweet has come a whole 173 followers... and counting.

Jesus.

But, what really takes the cake is the direct message in her inbox.

From Quinn Fabray.

Rachel’s legs buckle, and she’s lucky she’s so near her bed or she might have ended up with several bruises.

Quinn messaged her.

Quinn Fabray sent her a message.

Rachel’s fingers are actually trembling when she opens the message, and her head is throbbing to the beat of her racing heart.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Tell me, are you actually a vegan? Because, if not, this could get awkward very quickly :)_

Rachel can’t seem to catch her breath, and it doesn’t help that she reads the message another four times. What is she supposed to say? She’s not cut out for this. This is something out of her wildest dreams. Quinn is actually talking to her.

Why?

Why her, out of everyone she probably gets tweeted by on a daily basis?

That’s the question she wants to ask, but she doesn’t. Instead, she takes a moment to gather herself, and then very carefully composes her reply.

 **Rachel Berry** : _I’m actually a vegan, yes. I’ve been one since I was eleven and watched a documentary (I probably shouldn’t have watched at that age) about the treatment of animals in the food industry. It was disturbing, and I cried for two days straight. I made my parents watch it, and my Dad is now a vegan, as well. I can provide the link, if you’re interested. I’m sure I could convert you. (Is that a sufficient lecture from this token vegan?)_

And, once again, her heart is pounding, and she hopes the playfulness comes through, or it really will turn ugly quickly.

“Rachel,” Hiram shouts from downstairs. “It’s time to get going, or you’re going to be late for school.”

“Coming,” she calls out, but it still takes her another three minutes actually to move, and then another two to gather her already-packed bag. She slides her phone into her pocket, feeling the weight of it, and then heads downstairs.

She has an entire day to get through.

It really doesn’t help that her facial expression keeps flipping between bewilderment and extreme elation. She may or may not be having an actual conversation with her celebrity crush. In whose world does that ever happen?

Rachel checks her phone between every lesson, but there’s nothing from Quinn. She does receive more follower notifications, and her father texts her about what she might want for dinner.

 _Vegan pizza, please_ , is what she texts back, and she can just imagine his eye-roll.

Her obvious distraction leads to getting caught off guard by a slushy to the face. She’s not prepared, and it gets in her mouth and eyes, and onto her phone. The laughter is normal, and she can almost ignore it, but the humiliation is sometimes too much.

She just wishes they would stop. She wants it all to stop. She doesn’t know how a boy who once claimed to love her can just stand there and laugh while she suffers through this degradation.

The one good thing is that she’s no longer wearing rose-coloured glasses when it comes to Finn Hudson. She sees him for who he is, and that’s more than what others get.

With a sigh, she carefully swipes at her stinging eyes, and then turns and walks towards her locker. She needs her slushy kit, and she needs to get to the bathroom. At least they were courteous enough to wait until the lunch hour, so that she doesn’t have to miss class.

Getting cleaned up is an art she’s perfected. Sometimes, it’s bad enough that she actually needs a shower, but it’s not as terrible today. She does make sure to lock the bathroom door, though, so she can safely peel off her soiled sweater and wipe herself down. Her phone is, thankfully, protected by one of those heavy duty covers, bought specifically for this such situation.

They’ve all learned from Kurt’s ordeal in freshman year.

She rinses out her hair in the sink, towels it, and then plugs in her hairdryer. It’s all part of the process, and she’s going to have to up her haircare when she gets home. It’s a great source of pride of hers, and God only knows what sort of damage the syrupy drink is doing to her long locks.

The entire routine takes nearly twenty-five minutes, mainly because she doesn’t actually have to rush. It leaves her with just under a half hour to get something to eat. She has leftovers from the previous night, which allows her to skip out on the cafeteria and rather hunker down in the Choir Room. It’s her safe place. Usually. When she’s alone.

She’s just biting into a slice of pizza, absently checking her phone, when she notices it. She has a message. On _Twitter_.

She forces herself to chew and swallow before she checks the message, and then has to tell herself to stay seated when she spies Quinn’s name. Okay.

Okay.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _You should know that your lecture has been noted, and so ignored, but props for trying. If you know anything about me, it’s that I worship the bacon a.k.a. the food of the Gods. I think I’d have to be certifiably insane to give it up. Is your Dad your only success story? (Would you be insulted if I guessed that, yes, he probably is?)_

And, Rachel can’t stop her smile if she tries. They’re talking about absolute nonsense, but they’re talking, and Rachel can almost forget how horrible a day she’s just had.

Is currently having.

Before she can overthink it too much, she starts on a reply.

 **Rachel Berry** : _I would be insulted, definitely, if you weren’t correct. Sometimes, I think he did it just for me, which is a commitment and a half. I almost want to hand him a tub of ice cream and put him out of his misery, but it’s more fun to suffer with others, I’ve come to learn. (And, wow, I just read that back, and I sound very bitter about something.) And, not to come across as too much of a psycho - see previous sentence - I did know about your obsession with bacon. You should probably see a professional about that._

Rachel thinks it helps that Quinn doesn’t actually know her. She can be whoever she wants with Quinn. She can be herself, and just hope that she doesn’t scare Quinn off the way she’s managed to do with everyone else.

She doesn’t have to wait very long for a reply, and she wonders if Quinn is also on her lunch break. The thought makes her giddy; that the girl would dedicate any of her free time to messaging her.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Speaking as someone who has tried to drown her sorrows in ice cream, it’s not a permanent solution to whatever’s responsible for the bitterness. Whatever it is, I do hope it gets better soon, but rest assured it will one day. And, just for your information, I am seeing a professional... chef, about my bacon appreciation (not obsession, thank you very much.) There’s a legit bacon restaurant open in Manhattan, and I’m taking Noah there as soon as I can_.

For some reason, Rachel gets the feeling she’s talking to someone she actually knows. Quinn seems so open and willing, just conversing with a complete stranger, and Rachel wonders if she’s like this with everyone she meets.

From the videos, Quinn seems friendly enough, but there’s always been a guarded quality about her that shines through. Rachel hopes she doesn’t actually encounter her.

Or, maybe she wants to. She wants to know all of Quinn, which is a terrifying thought. This entire thing could end in a moment, and she’s going to savour every second of it.

 **Rachel Berry** : _Temporary solutions are kind of on my own list at the moment. Why does high school have to be so hard? Thank you for saying that. I hope you’re right. Hmm. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I was under the impression Noah is Jewish, ergo: no to the bacon? I sometimes forget you live in New York. I would give anything to be there instead of in this backwards town._

It’s more truth than Rachel anticipates telling a stranger who’s not really a stranger, but she’s not even worried. She wants Quinn to know her, and it’s probably the most childish desire she’s had in a while. And that’s saying something, because she’s had her heart broken quite recently.

Rachel finishes her second slice of pizza, and then nibbles on her fruit salad while she waits impatiently. One glance at the time, and she has only five minutes before she’s expected in class. Is Quinn going to respond before then? Will Rachel have enough time to reply?

She gets her answer four minutes later, when she’s standing at her locker with a quiet phone and a ringing bell. She’s oddly disappointed, but she’s holding out for a reply.

Part of her wonders if she’s imagining all of this; if she’s somehow managed to cook up an entire conversation with her crush the same way she’s thought up all sorts of other conversations.

No.

One look at her phone proves it’s really happening.

It’s real, and it’s terrifying, because this has the potential to hurt her in ways she can’t ever tell anyone. Quinn is Quinn, and she’s Rachel, and this is a disaster just waiting to happen.

She tries to force the thoughts from her mind as she finishes off the last lessons of the day. She’s slightly distracted, so she doesn’t participate as much, which she thinks is a relief to both students and teachers alike.

Glee is terrible.

Horrible.

They have Sectionals in a few weeks, and their Glee director, Mr Schuester, seems to be toying with the idea of having the winners of the duet competition he held earlier in the year actually perform for the competition. Rachel was an idiot for allowing Finn to convince her to throw the competition.

Now, Sam and Santana are probably going to take the stage, and there’s very little she can do about it. It doesn’t help that Santana loves to throw it in her face, and it takes everything Rachel has to ignore her. She won’t give the Latina the satisfaction of knowing she’s getting to her.

Because, she is.

Everything just seems to be getting to her, and she can sense that she’s reaching some sort of breaking point.

Which is why she almost bursts into tears when she gets blasted with another slushy just as she’s leaving at the end of the day. She hears the laughter, and she can see the jock standing in front of her, a smug smile on his face, and she wants nothing more than to hurt him.

The force of the desire scares her, and it’s that thought that has her turning around and heading back into the school. She won’t bother changing when she’s on her way home, but she does dry herself off, so she doesn’t drip all over the seats of her car.

She gets caught up staring at herself in the mirror, and she wonders how it is she ended up this pathetic. She has to tell herself repeatedly that she’s going to be a star one day. She’s going to surpass all these Neanderthals, and they’ll all just be a distant memory.

It takes another four minutes to convince herself, and then she’s on her way, registering relief that neither of her fathers is home to see her. They know some of what she’s been through, but she’s hidden quite a bit from them. Including this.

Rachel opts for a shower, spending an obscene amount of time under the spray, practically burning the sticky syrup off her skin. She ends up red and raw, but it makes her feel good when she finally steps out.

She throws on some comfortable sweats, and then settles at her desk to get started on her homework, soft music playing from her laptop. Rachel doesn’t really like silence. She likes sound, particularly the kind she can control.

She’s in the middle of a dreaded Calculus worksheet when her phone chimes, and her heart skips a beat, because she suspects she knows exactly who it is.

She’s not wrong.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _I think synonyms for ‘high school’ should include ‘absolute hell,’ ‘test of one’s sanity’ and ‘place where nothing makes sense.’ I just got home from a heinous day, and all I want to do is sleep, but I have something like five hours of homework ahead of me. Technically, Noah IS Jewish. He claims it’s more his culture than his religion. I fed him bacon by mistake a few years back, and he’s been unable to untaste it (yes, I’m aware that’s not really a word). To be honest, I sometimes forget I live here too. Have you ever been? I haven’t lived here my whole life, you know. Before, I lived in a backwards town too, so I know what you mean. Don’t worry, though, you’re going to make it out._

Rachel surprises herself with the absolutely dreamy sigh she lets out. If she thought Quinn was perfect before, she definitely thinks it now. This crush is bound to get worse with the way things are going, but she doesn’t have the willpower to stop it.

It takes her a while to think of a reply, and she also doesn’t want to appear too eager by responding too soon.

 **Rachel Berry** : _That’s quite the thesaurus you have for yourself there, but I think you left out ‘torture city’ and ‘place where nobody really cares.’ What exactly consists of a heinous day, because I think I have you beat? I’d say it's been the worst one, but I've definitely had worse. I think I get that. My parents are of mixed religion, but neither really practices. We’re culturally Jewish from my Dad’s side, and we participate only during the big holidays. (Does that make us bad Jews?) By all means, make up new words - you could probably get away with it. I’ve been to NY once, yes. I was four, I think, so I can’t remember much of it besides the bright lights and Broadway. It’s where I want to be one day, and I’m going to do anything and everything to make sure I get there. You did? I actually didn’t know that. I better brush up on my Quinn Fabray trivia._

Rachel feels both anxious and oddly calm when she hits send. Some of the pressure of the day seems to have been alleviated, and she’s baffled as to how that could be. She doesn’t even know Quinn, and the girl already has all this power over her.

With a sigh, she leans back in her chair and tries to calm her racing heart. This can’t be healthy, surely.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Can we add ‘place with ridiculous expectations’ to the list? Okay, so, I get the feeling your day was worse than mine. Did something happen? I just had early morning cheerleading practice, and then I had Culinary Club in the afternoon before I went to the restaurant for an early dinner service. I don’t know how I’m functioning right now. Well, I don’t think it makes you bad Jews. I think there are far worse people in the world, and it doesn’t even matter what religion they claim to belong to. I assume you know I’m a Christian and, while I’m a believer, I wouldn’t call myself a very pious Christian - my Dad claims I’m too liberal or something. Well, then, you definitely have to come back to NY, even before going after your Broadway dream. It’s a place to be experienced. Oh, yeah, definitely. I’m totally an Ohio native, born and raised until I was nine. Are you sure it’s not on my_ Wikipedia _page (which is where I assume people get most of their information about me)? Hmm. You know all this stuff about me, and I know next to nothing about you. Doesn’t seem fair to me... what’s your favourite colour?_

Rachel has to stop herself from imagining Quinn is actually interested in her in some way. Quinn is just being friendly. Quinn is kind and thoughtful and trying to maintain a conversation with someone who is obviously a fan of hers.

There’s a part of Rachel that almost wanted Quinn to be awful in real life. Just to help ease up on her crush, but Quinn is definitely not. She’s actually pretty great, and Rachel has the sneaking suspicion she’s going to get very little homework done if Quinn keeps talking to her.

 **Rachel Berry** : _As long as we can tack on ‘place where souls go to die.’ Something happened, all right. Are teenagers just genetically predisposed to be awful, because it’s difficult to come by ones that aren’t? I have to admit that Culinary Club sounds pretty awesome. I’m part of my school’s Glee Club, which can be cool when it wants to be (even though social norms claim it isn’t). I think those are the worst kind of people, really. The ones who openly practice religion, but still commit some of the worst atrocities. Liberal as in burn the bra, huh? The plan is so make it to show choir Nationals in New York this year, so we’ll see what happens. You’re from Ohio? Seriously? I am, too. Do you still have family here? (Which really translates to: do you ever visit Ohio?) Is that really the first thing you want to know? It’s yellow. Gold, maybe. Sometimes, pink. But, definitely yellow. Is yours red? Or green? My bet’s on the former._

Rachel wonders if they can actually keep this up, because the messages seem to be getting longer and longer. She just really wants to know Quinn, and she’s amazed that the girl seems to want to know her back.

It has her curious as to why but she’s too scared to ask. She’s probably not going to like whatever Quinn might tell her.

It takes some effort, but she manages to focus on her homework, right until the moment Quinn’s next message arrives, and Rachel’s eyes widen at the sheer length of it.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Also ‘place where no joy and excitement can exist.’ Well, I don’t think all teenagers are awful. There are some okay ones, sometimes. I’m starting to get the feeling you generally have a less than ideal time at school. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but do you get bullied? If so, I truly am sorry. I was bullied quite a bit when I was younger; when I still went by Lucy. Those were some of the worst years of my life, and I wish them on nobody. I’ve discovered that those who get bullied generally have something that the bullies envy and, if you’re part of your school’s Glee Club, then I imagine you must be a talented singer, right? People see that, and the awful parts of them want to strip you of it. Please, please don’t let them. Those are the worst kind of people, yes. Especially those who use their religion, twisting it in ways to justify the worst actions. The fear of God means nothing sometimes, which is a sad truth. Haha, no. Liberal, as in a lot more open to societal changes, I guess. Burning the bra seems a little extreme, and it really just seems as if it’ll result in a slap in the face (See what I did there? Admit it, I’m hilarious). I really hope you make it to Nationals. Everybody deserves to experience it once in their life, I think. You’re also from Ohio? Whoa, small world. My mom’s parents live in Columbus, but my dad’s family is from Arizona. We don’t visit all that much - were you hoping I’d pop in and cook for you, huh? Well, no, not the first thing, but asking about your favourite colour seemed like the safest place to start. What would you like me to know about you? Yellow? Wow. That’s different. Is there some reason why? It’s red, yeah. It’s been steadily growing on me, and now it’s all I want to wear... much to my mom’s chagrin._

Whoa.

Just, whoa.

Rachel feels breathless when she’s done reading, and she can’t stop herself from wondering what Quinn would say if she knew Rachel has the biggest gay crush imaginable on her. If she can help it, Quinn won’t ever know, because she doesn’t want to scare off the girl.

Now that she knows what it’s like to talk to Quinn, she doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardise what they’re currently doing.

 **Rachel Berry** : _We should definitely write our own thesaurus, with the way we’ve been going. Can we add ‘breeding ground for little psychos’ to the list? I assume there are not-so-awful teenagers in the world, but I’ve yet to encounter them. Maybe they’re hiding behind all the ones who make it their mission to make my life a living hell. It’s embarrassing, mostly, but, yes, I have been bullied since I was old enough to recognise it for what it was. Normally, I’m better at rising above it, but it’s getting a lot harder. I know they’re merely jealous of my talent and how far it’ll take me, but it’s just taking its toll, I guess. I’m sorry you were ever bullied. Lucy never deserved that. Nobody does. They are the worst, yes; cowards hiding behind the interpreted word of God to excuse their psychopathic actions. We can only hope it’ll get better, right? Oh my! A slap in the face? You like to think you’re a bit of a comedian, huh? You went to your Cooking Nationals last year, right? That was in Seattle, right? I assume you do quite a lot of travelling, right? Both my parents’ families are from Ohio, but they actually met at university in Chicago. Sometimes, I hate that they chose this place in which to settle, but what can I do? And, yes, I was hoping for a personally prepared meal from you... especially seeing as you’ve embraced this vegan cooking. That’s a heavy question, Quinn. What would I like you to know, hmm? Well, I’d probably lead with the fact I’m an only child, dedicated to my craft of singing and dancing, and I have dreams of performing on Broadway. While I probably wouldn’t sing his music - I’m more of a ballad girl, myself - I think Ed Sheeran has the power to speak to the soul. Well, he speaks to mine. I like the colour yellow, because it’s typically depicted as the colour of stars, and stars are important to me. I view them as a metaphor, in fact, and metaphors are important. I can’t say I wear red all that often - read: probably never - but you seem to wear it really well_.

And, shit, she presses send before her mind fully registers what she’s actually written in that last sentence, and it’s too late to take it back.

Oh, no.

She made it weird.

She just ruined it all, didn’t she? Quinn’s going to figure her out, and she’s going to want nothing to do with her now. God. Did she just out herself? Is this it?

Rachel’s phone buzzes mere seconds later, and she’s surprised to see Quinn’s name. Oh, God. Is Quinn about to tell her they can’t keep talking?

Sucking it up, she opens the message, and then chokes on her breath.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Do you have an email address?_ Twitter _is giving me a headache, and I think these messages are getting far too long for this platform, don’t you think?_

Rachel just stares for a full two minutes, and then does the next thing that’s going to change her life: send Quinn Fabray her email address.

She’s not really sure what to expect from it, but, when Quinn’s first email arrives with the subject line _I am so a comedian, what are you talking about?_ , Rachel knows she’s in deep, deep trouble.

 

* * *

 

Now, Rachel really doesn’t know what to expect from this new correspondence with Quinn, but she finds herself constantly on alert and in a deep state of unexpected calm because of it.

It’s surreal, really, but then Quinn’s Wednesday video is preceded by a quick look at _Twitter_ , and she almost has a heart attack at what she finds.

 _Quinn Fabray_ ✔️ _followed you_.

Technically, it’s Quinn’s turn to send her a mother of all emails, so Rachel doesn’t really know what to do with her excitement. She jumps around her room for a while, unsure what to say or do. This week has been one of the best of her life, and she can’t quite wrap her head around the fact it’s really happening.

Wednesday videos are published at 19h59, because Quinn likes to be funny, so Rachel doesn’t really expect an email before then, but she gets one, and she throws herself onto her bed to read it while she waits.

 **To: rachel_berry  
** **From: lucyquinnfabray  
** **Subject: I’m pretty sure I’m a superhero.  
** **Date: 10 November 2010**

_Broadway,_

_After today, I’m definitely adding ‘idiot central’ to the list of synonyms. It’s really uncanny just how stupid people can be on a daily basis. Sometimes, I really wish I went to school with Noah, just to have someone normal around, but that’s wishful thinking at its finest._

_Damn. I’m sorry you had such a terrible day. I know I say it’s going to get better, which may or may not seem like empty words at the moment, but I do mean it. There are good people out there, even in your school, and sometimes you just have to look harder to find them. I’m not giving up, so you can’t either. We just take it one day at a time, pick ourselves up, dust the hate off, and keep going. It’s all we can do, and I’m proud of you for keeping on keeping on._

_So, I just heard news about this youth culinary camp they’re running in Maryland for parts of the Winter Break, so I’ll soon be able to add that to my list of destinations I’ve been. It’s obviously not as exotic as Spain, France and Germany, but I find I love just being around people who are as interested in food as I am. I suspect you feel that way about people and music. I can’t say I know a hell of a lot, but you should know that you can talk to me about it, if you want. I don’t mind. I’m a fan of people who are passionate about their passions._

_I’ve actually been thinking about what would be the perfect meal I would cook for you. My sister found this awesome recipe for garlic and herb vegan rolls that I’ll probably attempt to make some day soon. Hummus, as well. Maybe I could try a vegan burger, which I’ve come to learn are notoriously difficult to get right. Don’t fret, I’m on the lookout. I will have the best meal in my arsenal when I do eventually cook for you._

_Seeing as we’re sharing things about ourselves, I think something people don’t generally know about me is that I can play the piano. I started lessons when I was four years old, and I’ve played and written exams up to Grade Six. Admittedly, the instrument has taken a bit of a back burner to a lot of the other things in which I’m involved, but it’s always going to be an integral part of me, and I just thought you should know._

_Now, I have to tell you why I consider myself a superhero. I had Culinary Club today, and Walker almost set himself on fire, so there was an actual disaster, and I was running late getting home, and I didn’t know if I could get today’s video out on time, but lo and behold, I am a legitimate_ Captain Marvel _, and I saved the day. Pay close attention to this one, Rachel. Hint hint, nudge nudge._

_I hope your evening goes far better than your day did, and I’ll talk to you soon._

_Kind regards,  
_ _Quinn_

Rachel wonders if there will ever be a day when her heart doesn’t end up beating erratically after any communication from Quinn. It’s unlikely, she knows, but a girl can hope she doesn’t develop some kind of heart arrhythmia just because of a crush. Gosh, how do people survive these things?

If Rachel were even a little less realistic than she is, she would probably claim she’s a little bit in love. It’s been only... three days of constant contact, and she’s quite certain she would happily give up her firstborn child if Quinn asked.

Rachel sets aside replying to Quinn’s email, and rather goes to _Twitter_ , spying that Quinn has actually tweeted.

 **Quinn Fabray - @lucyquinnfabray  
** _Wednesday video up and available. Was a struggle to get this one up in time, but I think you’re all going to learn a little something about me you never knew... dun dun dun ;)_

Rachel feels her heart race, again, and it’s proving to be a problem. She navigates to their initial direct message thread, and sends a quick message.

 **Rachel Berry** : _You followed me_.

Quinn’s reply comes moments later, and it startles Rachel from where she’s now looking at Quinn’s _YouTube_ channel on her laptop.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _So I did. I went looking for you on_ Instagram _, but I couldn’t find you_.

Rachel laughs to herself, because this all so surreal.

 **Rachel Berry** : _Is this your way of asking for my social media profiles, Quinn?_

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Yes_.

Rachel sighs, feeling her heart squeeze slightly.

 **Rachel Berry** : _Well, I had to delete my_ Instagram _account because I made the mistake of not having stringent enough privacy settings, and the... hate was too much, and then I was just over it, and I haven’t really thought about it that much since._

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Rachel, no. You need_ Instagram _. It’s the best one, I’m telling you. It’s where I post all my creations. Do you mean to tell me you’ve missed out on all that glory? I’m hurt. How could you?_

 **Quinn Fabray** : _But, in all seriousness, you can’t let them win, okay? I know it must suck, but you have to live the way you want to. It’s your life, and you have to be proud of the one you’re living. The rest of them don’t matter._

Rachel sighs. It’s nothing she doesn’t already know, but it sounds heavier coming from Quinn, for some reason.

 **Rachel Berry** : _I could handle it on my_ MySpace _page, but it really takes a lot out of you whenever anything you post - regardless of what it is - results in people commenting about how you should get sterilised and how your parents should send you back._

She waits with bated breath for Quinn’s response, mainly because she doesn’t know what to expect.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Good God. What kind of people do you live with? That’s awful, Rachel, and I’m sorry you’ve ever had to go through that_.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _But, Jesus, please don’t tell me you still have_ MySpace _:|_

Rachel doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and she thinks it would probably be untoward to ask Quinn for an actual hug, right?

 **Rachel Berry** : _I wasn’t kidding when I said I was surrounded by psychopaths. I get by, though, and I’ll leave them all behind, one day. ... Would you still be my friend if I said yes?_

 **Quinn Fabray** : _That’s the right attitude. Consider me proud. ... I suppose I’ll have to be ;) No, seriously, I’ll still be your friend. Do you?_

 **Rachel Berry** : _I do, yes. I used to post my own videos of me singing, just trying to get my name out there, but I seem to have garnered little success from it_.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Is it insensitive to tell you that's probably because you're using the wrong platform? Gosh, I’m going to go look at this page right now. Wait. Does_ MySpace _even still exist?_

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Found it. Well, now I know what I’m going to be doing for the rest of the night. Screw Biology homework._

Rachel laughs through her panic.

 **Rachel Berry** : _Quinn, no. I could go my entire life without you seeing how young and pathetic I was - and still can be. They’re just some silly videos that I’ve come to regret in my later years. Please don’t_.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Well, if you really don’t want me to, I promise I won’t. But, this is a part of you, and I want to know you. (I’ll also be the first to admit I’m deathly curious to hear you sing, so there’s also that.)_

Yip. Quinn could ask anything of her, and Rachel would willingly give it without a second thought.

 **Rachel Berry** : _Okay, fine, but no laughing. While you watch me, I’m going to go watch you and try to reply to your beast of an email_.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _No laughter. I promise_.

There’s something so severe behind the words, and Rachel can’t help but wonder if Quinn is feeling remotely anything she’s feeling. Their conversations feel heavy, and she likes to think this friendship they’re developing is going to last a lifetime.

Which is a thought that’s somewhat confirmed when Rachel watches Quinn’s Wednesday video, and there’s Ed Sheeran playing softly in the background, and Quinn talks about red and gold and how she wanted to be a Gryffindor until she was actually Sorted into Ravenclaw.

And, then, Quinn laughs this little laugh and says, “I’m taking Noah to watch a Broadway show Thanksgiving weekend, so there’s that,” and Rachel is pretty sure she’s in love.

 

* * *

 

Which is almost confirmed on the weekend when Rachel receives an email from Quinn with the subject line of: _Okay, so don’t be mad_.

Rachel abandons her homework immediately and opens the email on her laptop. She doesn’t know what to expect - her mind, of course runs through the worst scenarios - but nothing could have prepared her for what’s actually happening.

 **To: rachel_berry  
** **From: lucyquinnfabray    
** **Subject: Okay, so don’t be mad.  
** **Date: 14 November 2010**

_Broadway,_

_So, I may or may not have done a thing._

_Okay, I did do a thing, and I really need you not to freak out about it. I did it for your own good, and I hope you won’t be too mad._

_First, I want you to know that you are ridiculously talented. I’ve watched your videos endlessly these past few days, and I couldn’t help thinking that it’s not fair that other people don’t get to hear you._

_So, I showed my sister, and she thinks you’re brilliant. I showed my mom, and she’s convinced you’re going to go very far, and my dad claims we should start booking tickets for your shows now._

_It was when I showed Noah that I came up with the idea. I’m apologising in advance for going behind your back, but I won’t apologise for actually doing it. Obviously, throughout the years, I’ve picked up a few things regarding my own_ YouTube _channel, but I’ve learned a lot from Noah, and so he’s the one I asked when I came up with the idea._

_Please don’t be mad._

_I made a_ YouTube _channel for you. It’s called BroadwayBerry, obviously, and I’ve spent the last few days downloading, cleaning up and migrating all your videos - Okay, maybe not all, because some of them had bad sound quality and poor lighting - to_ YouTube _. These are the account details._

 _Obviously, I listed your_ Twitter _and_ Facebook _, but you’re going to have to get on that whole_ Instagram _thing._

 _I know you said you stopped making videos, but I think you should never stop. At this stage,_ YouTube _is the best platform for this kind of thing, and you can really build an actual fan base for yourself._

_Only if you want to, of course. I’ll never force you into anything, Rachel, but I truly do think you’ll be doing the world and yourself a gross disservice if you don’t share your talent. I can’t even begin to explain how hearing you sing has made me feel._

_It’s probably off-base, but I would describe it as having a ‘Come to Jesus moment.’ Like, I can’t even go back and unhear (not a word, I know) you, nor would I even want to. You have a gift; a beautiful, glorious gift, and the world needs to hear it as much as you need them to hear it._

_In terms of the channel, I thought it would be cool to consider taking requests. Obviously, you won’t sing only Broadway songs, but that’s your passion, and it’s clear to see whenever you perform a song from a musical. It’s in your eyes and your voice, and just your entire body, and it’s so fascinating._

_You are mesmerising and captivating when you sing, and I feel selfish that the great big world doesn’t yet know about you. You can go places, and I want a hand in helping you get there._

_So, I’m actually trying not to care whether you’re mad or not, because I don’t regret it. Do us a favour and go and check out the channel. It’s pretty neat, if I do say so myself, and I’m a legitimate_ YouTube _star, did you know that, so I just know these things._

_Happy Sunday!_

_Kind regards,  
_ _Quinn_

 _P.S. My first request is_ All Of The Stars _by Ed Sheeran, by the way, so you should get on that as soon as possible. One day, maybe, I could play piano, Noah the guitar, and you could sing, and we could call ourselves The Yellow Bell Peppers or The Screaming Squashes or The Spice Jews and Milk Froth or even The Great Lima Beans (hah)._

Rachel can’t be sure she’s still breathing by the time she reaches the end of the email. What on Earth is this girl doing to her?

With shaky fingers, Rachel opens a new tab and goes to her new _YouTube_ channel. It’s absolutely surreal seeing her own videos in a new light, and her heart is thundering against her ribcage. The channel is live, and she’s already had a few views, and she reasons Quinn could probably help her with advice on how to get the numbers to go up.

If that’s even what she wants.

Cautiously, she reaches for her phone and opens _Twitter_. For the short, quick messages, they still use _Twitter’s_ direct message platform, and it’s one sure way for her to get immediate access to Quinn.

 **Rachel Berry** : _Quinn_.

 **Rachel Berry** : _What did you do_?

She’s really not surprised when she gets an immediate reply.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Wait. I can’t tell if you’re actually mad or not_.

 **Rachel Berry** : _Quinn_.

 **Rachel Berry** : _I don’t know what to say_.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Oh my. Have I rendered Rachel Berry speechless_?

Rachel almost replies that Quinn does that more often than she thinks. For the first time, she wishes she could call Quinn and actually talk to her. The idea, itself, is terrifying, but it’s what she wants in this moment. Just, to hear Quinn’s voice; to hear Quinn actually say her name.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Broadway? You still there?_

 **Rachel Berry** : _Why_?

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Why what_?

 **Rachel Berry** : _Why did you do this? Why would you? You barely even know me, Quinn, and this is... I don’t even know what this is, but it feels like a lot. Too much. I don’t know how to feel or what to do. Nobody’s ever done anything like this for me_.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _I still don’t know if you’re mad or not, but I’m going to assume you’re just overwhelmed at the moment. As for why, Rachel, I told you that you’re talented, and I want you to be recognised for it. You deserve the recognition and the exposure, and I can help with that. All this cost me was time, which I would willingly give up all over again. Feel whatever you want to feel, okay? We’ll deal with it. Well, then, I think you need better friends_.

Rachel feels tears pool in her eyes, and there’s really no escaping it now. The more she talks to Quinn; the more real the girl becomes, and Rachel is smitten.

Dangerously so.

 **Rachel Berry** : _I’ll let you know when I figure out what I’m feeling. I don’t really have any friends, so I guess I’m just lost with regards to all of this._

 **Quinn Fabray** : _I’ll be waiting patiently, then. Hey, I’m your friend, and friends do these kinds of things for each other. As far as I know, anyway, because I could just be spoiled. Noah is a little self-absorbed sometimes, but he’s the best friend I’ve ever had. You really only need one real and true one, and you’re set, I reckon. I can be that for you, if you’d like_.

Rachel takes a deep, shuddering breath, and then releases it slowly. Having Quinn as an online friend is more than she ever thought possible, and she would be a fool not to take it.

 **Rachel Berry** : _I’d really like that, Quinn_.


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

 

The week before Thanksgiving is a chaotic one.

For both Rachel and Quinn. The blonde is especially busy preparing for her holiday videos, her extra shifts at the restaurant where she works, Sectionals for both cheerleading and Culinary Club and planning what the family is going to eat when Frannie brings home her new boyfriend.

Rachel has her own woes dealing with a completely insufferable Santana, an aloof Finn, a particularly trying Kurt and an antagonistic Mercedes. She’s also struggling with the very real fact that she may or may not be in love with her only true friend, and that she’s gay.

She’s very, very gay.

Because Quinn sent her a short video clip of both her and Noah jamming out to one of Rachel’s songs, and Rachel is convinced she died and entered a heaven where Quinn Fabray could actually be hers.

Rachel thinks her fathers have noticed something is... amiss with her, and she’s managed to explain it away by telling them about her new _YouTube_ channel. Before, on _MySpace_ , she used to make videos almost nightly, or at least every two nights, but she doesn’t think she can keep up with that now. She’s settled on twice a week, because there is so much involved in getting the songs out.

Quinn told her the best programs to use for video editing, and she pooled together some of her pocket money to purchase a new, state-of-the-art camera - okay, so she may have also asked her fathers for some input.

If she’s going to make a go of this thing, she’s going to do it right.

She uploaded her first ‘new’ video yesterday, a Saturday, which was Quinn’s request, and the view count has been steadily rising, which fills Rachel with an odd sense of anxiety and accomplishment.

She also has a new _Instagram_ account. Her first picture was one of the view from her bedroom window, which is actually quite pretty during sunset.

So it begins.

Rachel is in the middle of what feels like never-ending Calculus homework when she receives an email from Quinn. She checks her phone first, to see if she has any messages of _Twitter_ , but she doesn’t.

The email is unexpected, but then Quinn has a habit of surprising her.

 **To: rachel_berry  
** **From: lucyquinnfabray    
** **Subject: I’m a little bit obsessed.  
** **Date: 21 November 2010**

_Broadway,_

_I think I’ve listened to your version of_ All Of The Stars _something like a hundred times in the last 24 hours. It’s still playing, in fact. I love your voice, Rachel. It’s transformative, almost transcendent. I don’t know if you hear it enough, but I’ll tell you every day, okay?_

 _I had a question: do you write any of your own music? It might be a good idea to try. Noah writes songs. Once upon a time, he tried to get me join the band he wanted to start, but I really don’t have the time for it. He formed one at his school, though, and they’re called The Chicken Schnitzels. They have a_ YouTube _channel, so you should definitely check them out._

_But, really, I think you should try to write some music. I think you have a lot to say, even if you don’t think you do. Will you at least think about it? Give it a try._

_So, I finally decided on a menu for Thursday. It was a bit of a tossup, because I’m not actually a fan of cranberries, but cranberry sauce has worked its way into becoming a Thanksgiving staple. Ugh._

_Question: are you really going to go with a tofurkey? I included it in yesterday’s video specifically for you, so I would be a little miffed if you didn’t at least try it out. Sorry not sorry. It wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever tasted, but I’m honestly never going to become a vegan. You must be incredibly disciplined._

_I find that I enjoy learning new things about you. Is that weird? I don’t want it to be weird. It’s just that the sermon at church today talked a lot about appreciating the good things you have in your life, and being grateful and thankful, and I’ve been forced to acknowledge that you are now one of those good things, Rachel Berry._

_I know, sometimes, you wonder what really made me message you that first day, and I joke about it being the Harry Potter dish towel, but part of me thinks it was more than that. Something out of my control. You needed a friend as much as I did, and we found each other however we were meant to._

_Gosh, that sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? I believe in God’s ultimate plan for me, and I’ve come to accept you were always going to be part of it. Call it fate or destiny or whatever, but we’re now in each other’s lives, and you’re stuck with me. Deal with it._

_Anyway, I hope you’re having a good Sunday. Excuse me while I listen to your song again, and again and again._

_Kind regards,  
_ _Quinn_

For the most part, Rachel doesn’t quite know how to react to what she’s just read. On the one hand, Quinn’s words are sweet, and they can easily be taken as they are: one friend to another, expressing gratitude.

But then there’s the other way, and Rachel’s traitorous heart is so tempted to latch onto the preposterous idea that Quinn could actually be feeling anything like she’s feeling.

It could be, written between the lines, and she knows she needs to keep a hold of herself before she says or does something stupid.

She’s never been more grateful for the fact Quinn can’t actually see her. Imagine having to respond to something like this with Quinn sitting right in front of her.

But, also, what she would do for that to be true.

With a sigh, she reaches for her phone and opens _Twitter_. She’s been toying with the idea of asking for Quinn’s phone number, but she doesn’t want to come across as too forward. So far, Quinn has dictated their methods of communication, but it would just be so much easier if they could just text like normal people.

Except, nothing about this is normal.

Sucking it up, Rachel bites the bullet and does the thing.

 **Rachel Berry** : _I want to text you. Is that something we can do_?

She doesn’t even realise she’s holding her breath until Quinn sends her phone number exactly nineteen seconds later. Rachel curses under breath, because _holy shit, this is actually happening_.

It takes her a moment to get her bearings again, and then she’s composing the first of many, many texts she will send to Quinn Fabray in her lifetime.

 **Rachel Berry** : _Hi. It’s Rachel. First, I think you should know that your words about my voice have me blushing like a crazy person. By all means, keep the compliments coming. But, thank you, truly, Quinn. I can’t even explain what it means coming from you._

 **Rachel Berry** : _I don’t actively write my own music, no. Our Glee director has brought it up a few times, so I think he’s going to set an assignment like that some time soon. I journal a lot, though, so I guess I have material if ever I need it. I’m a very emotional girl. Which is what I am right now, Quinn. Who cares about the stupid tofurkey when you’re saying things like that? You know, I admired you long before we ever met. Back when you were on TCJ, there was just something about you that resonated with me. Maybe your smile or your passion for food or the way you were so determined to enjoy every second of your experience, whether you won or not. It was something, and it’s still there today_.

 **Rachel Berry** : _I never dreamed of being your friend, and it’s a surprise to me every day I wake up and realise this isn’t all a dream. At this point in my life, besides my parents, you’re the most important relationship in my life. I don’t know if that’s too heavy, but I like to count myself pretty lucky that I get to know you this way. While I’m not particularly religious, I do believe in something bigger than I am, and I accept the roles fate and destiny play in my life, and if we were always meant to be who we are to each other, then so be it. I’m lucky to have you, Quinn, and I’ll be grateful every day_.

There’s a lot more breath-holding, and she panics that she’s said too much. Has she potentially given herself away? What will Quinn think?

When Quinn’s reply eventually arrives, Rachel really doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Both, maybe.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _So, what I got out of all of that is I’m essentially the light of your life. Yip. You totally love me, and you want to have my babies. Gotcha, Berry. Your secret’s safe with me. X_

Rachel sucks in a breath.

Well, as long as Quinn already knows.

 **Rachel Berry** : _You’re an idiot_.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Maybe. But you’re still stuck with me_.

 **Rachel Berry** : _Believe me, I’m dealing with it_.

 

* * *

 

While Rachel’s fathers’ families both live in Ohio, she’s met only a handful of members. It’s not something she can realistically explain to Quinn without necessarily divulging that her fathers’ families are largely against homosexuality.

So, Thanksgiving is usually a tiny affair, with just the three of them. When she was younger, LeRoy’s younger cousins, Jordan and Keegan used to stop by, but she hasn’t seen them in a few years.

Jordan moved out of state, and Keegan got married to an unaccepting woman who doesn’t want their young children exposed to such sin.

At least, Rachel can rest assured her parents won’t disown her when she eventually comes out to them. She’s really been thinking about how she’s going to do it, because she needs some guidance.

She has a disastrous crush on a girl who lives in a different state, and there’s a certain weight that seems to be pressing down on her chest that she can’t quite explain. School is terrible and horrible, and she’s come home fighting tears twice this week.

They had only three days of school.

So, it’s Thanksgiving night, and she’s sitting at the dining room table with her fathers, eating the tofurkey she and LeRoy prepared with the help of Quinn’s recipe.

She already exchanged pleasantries with Quinn earlier, and the blonde complained that she’s convinced her sister’s new boyfriend is actually a cyborg. There was something just so simple about the exchange that has Rachel feeling brave enough to tackle this very serious matter.

“Dads,” she starts severely, getting their collective attention.

Hiram’s fork freezes halfway to his mouth, and LeRoy swallows what is already in his mouth.

“I have to tell you both something,” Rachel continues, trying to ignore the way her heart is beating way too fast. “It’s - it’s kind of hard to say, given the implications, but - “ she pauses. “I’m sure you’ll wonder if I’m actually sure, which I can say with absolute certainty that I am.” Her mind flashes with an image of Quinn, and it’s really a no-brainer.

She runs her hands over her thighs, her palms starting to sweat. “I - I have recently come to accept that I am, in fact, uh, gay.”

The silence that follows is heavy, and Rachel resists the urge to fill it with her own voice. She fidgets in her seat as her fathers just stare at her.

Rachel clears her throat. “Please say something.”

Hiram recovers first. “You said you’re sure?”

She nods. “I am, yes.”

Hiram licks his lips, and then leans back. “Well, this is a surprise, Sweetheart,” he says. “I’ll be the first to admit this isn’t something we’ve given a lot of thought about, given your previous relationships with Jesse and Finn.” He sighs. “Is - is there something you need from us?” he asks, sounding unsure.

Rachel blinks. “Everything is going to be okay, right?” she asks, and her voice comes out as little more than a whisper.

Hiram reaches for her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Everything is going to be okay,” he confirms. “Sweetheart, I won’t lie to you and say it’ll always be easy. We live in a very unaccepting town, and this truth about you may make aspects of your life difficult, but I promise everything is going to be okay.”

LeRoy smiles softly at her. “We love you,” he says. “This changes nothing about what we feel about you. We’re so, so proud of you.”

Rachel feels her eyes pooling with tears, and she imagines those are the words he wishes he heard from his own family when he first came out.

“We love you,” LeRoy reiterates.

“A lot,” Hiram adds. “Like, a lot, a lot.”

Rachel lets out a watery laugh. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you.”

They descend into a silence that’s more comfortable, and Rachel can tell that Hiram wants to ask her questions, and it makes her smile.

“You can ask me, Dad,” she says.

Hiram perks up, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Is there a specific girl we’re interested in?”

And, Rachel does the completely ridiculous thing and blushes.

Hiram exchanges a look with LeRoy. “Me thinks there is, Honey.”

LeRoy chuckles softly. “I imagine so, from that reaction.”

Rachel ducks her head. “There is,” she says. “It’s actually proving to be a bit of a problem.”

“How so?”

Rachel bites the inside of her cheek. “She’s my friend,” she says. “I mean, I’m about seventy percent sure she’s straight, which makes things weird for me.”

“Seventy percent is an odd number,” LeRoy points out. “Even if it's technically even,” he adds unnecessarily.

Rachel shrugs. “It just proves I’m not certain, and I’m not entirely sure how to go about finding out for sure without actually outing myself.”

“Ah,” Hiram says; “and so begin the woes. I’m afraid to tell you you’ll probably experience a lot of that uncertainty. I’ve found that tracking their eyes is very important in figuring out if they’re actually interested.”

Rachel can’t quite tell them that tracking Quinn’s eyes is a sheer impossibility at this point, but it seems like sound advice for the future. “Is that what happened with Daddy?” she asks.

Hiram laughs. “Oh, definitely,” he says. “He tried so hard to resist me, but his eyes always gave him away. I knew it was only a matter of time before he fell for my charm.”

LeRoy just shakes his head. “That’s how he tells it, at least,” he says. “Do you want my advice, Sweetheart?”

She nods.

“Be patient,” he says, and ignores the eye-roll he receives from his husband. “I know you’re young and you’re feeling all these things, but there is no rush. You can learn about yourself, and you can learn about her, and you can grow into exactly the person you’re supposed to be without the added worry of... being found out.” He sighs. “That’s the one thing I don’t want for you. The fear of this secret becoming public knowledge before you’re ready for it.”

“Will I ever be ready?”

Hiram nods. “There will come a time in your life when you’re completely settled and happy with yourself and your life, and you will be free and true, and that will be beautiful, Rachel.”

“But, you recommend keeping it a secret for now?”

The men exchange another look. “Well,” LeRoy starts; “I think, yes.”

“Oh.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve never wanted you to hide any part of yourself, but protecting you has always been my number one priority, and I just don’t know how I’m supposed to protect you from the aftermath of something like this.” He looks so sad. Helpless, even. “How do I keep you safe from even more prejudice and hate? How do I do that?”

Rachel’s bottom lip trembles, because she really doesn’t have the answer to those questions. She has no plans to come out to anyone other than her fathers, anyway, so it’s a pointless worry.

Sometimes, she entertains the idea of discussing it with Quinn, but they don’t know each other nearly well enough for that quite yet.

Soon, maybe.

One day.

Who knows?

 

* * *

 

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Holy shit. Sweet baby Jesus. Rachel Berry, why didn’t you tell me this whole Broadway thing was so lit_?

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Okay. Noah made me type that. But, seriously, Rachel, whatever I just watched was amazing. Beautiful. Glorious. The entire time, I couldn’t help but imagine you up there on that stage, singing your heart out and wowing hundreds and thousands of audience members_.

Rachel feels her heart constrict, because Quinn is this glorious being, and Rachel is already struggling without Quinn being all cute and caring and present and all those lovely things that are making it difficult for Rachel not to tell Quinn how much she means to her every opportunity she gets.

 **Rachel Berry** : _So, you’re now a fan of Broadway, huh_?

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Oh, come on, Berry, you already knew I was a fan of you ;)_

Rachel wonders if all this innocent flirting will stop if Quinn knew she was gay. Would Quinn second-guess everything she says, or perhaps start reading into everything Rachel says a little too much?

The consequences are vast, and Rachel doesn’t want to do anything to change their dynamic. She likes things the way they are, and she’s going to be patient, the way her father said to.

 **Rachel Berry** : _So, you enjoyed it, huh?_

 **Quinn Fabray** : _I loved every second of it, Rachel. My heart is still pounding. I just wish I could have experienced my first show with you, but you and I are going to go together when you’re next in NY. I don’t care what you say. It’s happening_.

 **Rachel Berry** : _You’ll hear no protests from me_.

 **Rachel Berry** : _I wish I’d been with you, too_.

 

* * *

 

Quinn sends Rachel a text on the morning of her Sectionals competition that makes the brunette smile until her cheeks hurt. It’s at moments like these that Rachel is convinced she and Quinn are in some kind of pseudo-relationship.

 _Just know that I’ll be thinking of you_ , are words that Rachel carries with her throughout the day that really shouldn’t exist. Everything just feels so out of sorts, because Mr Schuester insisted on Sam and Santana singing the duet, which Rachel thinks she could accept if Santana wasn’t acting like such a smug bitch about it.

Rachel complained all of Thursday to Quinn about it, and the blonde was present and attentive and supportive. She mentioned that maybe Mr Schuester was just man managing. Keeping all the members happy by playing the second-stringers during the less important competitions.

It would make sense, if Rachel actually thought that was what Mr Schuester was doing. It’s obviously not, and she ranted and raved - as much as one can via text - until Quinn managed to distract her by discussing potential birthday presents.

Rachel is still trying to convince Quinn she doesn’t need to get her anything, but it doesn’t seem to be working.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Try as you might, Rachel, but I’m getting you a birthday present whether you like it or not_.

Rachel sighs in defeat, even if she can’t keep the smile off her face. She glances around the bus, noting the way everyone seems oddly tense.

This should be interesting.

 **Rachel Berry** : _I think, at this stage, I’d happily just take a win today_.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _You’re going to win_.

 **Rachel Berry** : _Is that a prediction_?

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Yip. I’m putting it out into the Universe, so it’s bound to come true. Just you wait and see_.

 **Rachel Berry** : _Well, yes, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing, because I’m not going to be singing_.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Rachel Berry, you are part of a team. I know it sucks, but you’re co-captain for a reason, and you’re supposed to rise above and show your support. You might not like it, but you’re better than them - everyone knows it - so why don’t you prove it to them in all the ways_?

 **Rachel Berry** : _Why do you always know the right thing to say_?

 **Quinn Fabray** : _I’ve been in therapy for years. I also think I’ve come to understand team politics quite well in my years as Head Cheerleader and co-captain of the CulClub. Being a star is one thing, but you can’t win without them and they can’t win without you. Use it to your advantage_.

 **Rachel Berry** : _You’re a diabolical one, aren’t you?_

 **Quinn Fabray** : _I’m definitely something_.

Rachel smiles to herself, and then startles when the bus comes to a sudden stop. One glance out the window tells her they’ve arrived, and she feels her nerves kick in... which start to dissipate as she types out a final text to Quinn.

 **Rachel Berry** : _We’ve just arrived, so I better get going. I’ll text you later :)_

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Good luck, Sweets! Let me know how it goes. X_

Rachel has just enough time to register the pet name Quinn just used before Mr Schuester is calling her name, and she’s switching to co-captain mode.

They have a competition to win.

 

* * *

 

And, it’s rather telling that Quinn Fabray is the very first person she tells when they do end up winning.

 **Rachel Berry** : _You’re not allowed to say ‘I told you so.’_

Quinn, for the most part, is really good at replying, so Rachel doesn’t usually expect to wait all that long to hear from her. Which is why the fact that Quinn doesn’t reply until nearly eleven o’clock at night catches Rachel off guard.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _I’m still going to. Wait for it..._

 **Quinn Fabray** : _I told you so_.

Rachel feels oddly unsettled by the wait between replies, but she doesn’t know how to ask about it, without coming across as needy or accusing.

 **Rachel Berry** : _We won, by the way. Your prediction was correct_.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _What did I tell you? I’m a genius_.

Rachel is already in bed, so she rolls onto her side and wonders if this is the moment when her relationship with Quinn starts to become too good to be true.

Her phone buzzes in her hand, and she sees that Quinn has sent her a picture. It’s of herself and Frannie, the two of them bundled up against the cold as they pose on what looks like an ice-skating rink. The caption says: _Look who came to steal me away today. Sisters are so demanding, sometimes_.

Rachel finds herself letting out a breath she didn’t even realise she was holding, because it’s an explanation to a question she didn’t even ask.

Maybe it really is too good to be true.

 

* * *

 

Despite her protests about Quinn getting her a birthday present, a strange box arrives on her doorstep on the eighteenth of December, and Rachel’s heart thumps harshly against her ribcage.

She also doesn’t know how to explain the gift to her fathers. Whatever it is.

She can’t really get away with opening it out of their presence, but she still decides to take her time. She probably shouldn’t have given Quinn her home address, but the girl asked and Rachel would give her anything at this point in her life.

There’s a card, and Rachel almost bursts into tears at the sight of Quinn’s actual handwriting. She huddles in an armchair and reads Quinn’s words, feeling herself falling deeper and deeper into this pit of love she's unsure is ever going to end.

 

_Broadway,_

_So, today is the day. FINALLY. I can’t imagine what it must be like having a December birthday, being forced to wait all year for the day your phone finally blows up with an endless number of notifications (most of which will be courtesy of me, I can assure you)._

_As you know, I had to come up with your present all on my own (because you were SO helpful when I asked). I think I did sort of okay, and I hope you like it. It’s kind of special to the both of us, I think, and I had to be quite sneaky about figuring out if you’d actually be able to use it (them?)._

_So, just, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!_

_It’s been quite the few weeks, hasn’t it? Ups and more ups, and downs and more downs. It’s been busy, for sure, dealing with all the stresses of life, school and parents. I like to think I’ve made a life-long friend in you, Rachel. Just, know that I’ll always be here, all right; whether it’s just to talk or… to talk, I guess. I’m not going anywhere._

_I do hope you have a wonderful day. I hope it’s special and memorable, and I can’t wait to hear all about it._

_Yours,    
_ _Quinn_

 

And, all Rachel really thinks in that moment is: _Mine_. It’s dangerous, she knows, but she can’t help it. Quinn did this amazing, lovely thing for her, and how is Rachel supposed to accept that this is purely friendship? Just, how?

“What’s in the box?” Hiram asks, looking far too interested.

Rachel very carefully returns the card to its envelope, and then gets to her feet to inspect the box. It’s square in shape, and her heart leaps into her throat when she pulls out two vinyl records. The first one is Ed Sheeran’s + album, and the second is the original soundtrack to the movie _The Fault in Our Stars_.

Which is signed.

By Ed Sheeran.

Rachel gasps, almost dropping it in the process, her eyes scanning the words written in black Sharpie.

 

 _Rachel,  
__Your cover of_ All Of The Stars _is amazing.  
__Quinn made sure I saw it, and I’m glad for it.  
__She’s definitely a keeper.  
__Hope you have a wonderful birthday!  
__\- Ed_

 

And, okay, Rachel actually cries. She can’t help it. Honest to God, it can’t be helped.

It’s with blurry eyes that she reaches for her phone and immediately texts Quinn, just needing to contact the blonde before her own heart bursts right out of her chest.

 **Rachel Berry** : _I’m definitely keeping you_.

She’s vaguely aware of her father asking her about the gift, but she’s not paying attention, because now Quinn is replying, and the great big world doesn’t exist save for the girl so far away.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _You’ll hear no protests from me_.

Yip.

It’s official.

She’s totally and irrevocably in love.

The terrifying realisation hits her the second her father’s voice breaks through her gaze, and she hears him ask, “Is this actually signed by Ed Sheeran?” Hiram’s voice is slightly higher, and Rachel smiles as she wipes at her tears.

This is all so surreal.

“Yes,” she says.

“Whoa,” he says, and then frowns slightly. “Who’s Quinn?”

Rachel doesn’t bother responding verbally. She just gives him a very significant look, and then it’s clicking and he’s gasping, and Rachel is both relieved and anxious to reveal this part of her relationship with Quinn to her fathers. She’s not sure she can actually explain it without blushing like a complete fool.

It’s one thing to have a crush on an abstract being that she won’t ever know, but it’s something very different to develop actual feelings for a person on the other end of the line, as it were.

“Quinn Fabray?” Hiram asks, his eyes slightly wide. “As in, teenage superstar chef Quinn Fabray?”

Rachel nods, internally rolling her eyes at Quinn’s description. She’s so much more than that, but that’s what most people know her for. “That’s the one,” Rachel says.

“I don’t understand.”

Rachel drops her gaze to the record in her hands. “I guess you could say we’re friends,” she confesses quietly. “Do you remember when she tweeted at me?”

“You mean when you shrieked like someone was stabbing you?”

“Dad.”

“I remember.”

Rachel shakes her head in amusement. “Well, she ended up messaging me, and then we just started talking, and now we’re friends.”

“You’re _friends_ with Quinn Fabray?”

“It appears so.”

Hiram eyes her carefully, noting the way she can’t quite look him in the eye, and it’s the reason he suddenly just _knows_. “This is your _friend_?” he asks softly.

She audibly swallows. “Yes.”

“The one you - “

“Yes,” she cuts in, really not needing him to say the words out loud. It’s difficult enough to deal with them without actually _discussing_ them with her fathers. “I - I told you I don’t know if…” she trails off. “But, then, she’ll do crazy things like this, and it’s all just really confusing.” She shakes her head. “I mean, is this what friends actually do for each other? Do I just have the worst kinds, and this is what good ones are? I don’t know. _I don’t know_.”

Rachel’s phone buzzes again, and she immediately looks at it, her heart rate quickening at the sight of Quinn’s name.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _So, do you like_?

Rachel doesn’t even have the words to describe just how much, so she settles on the one thing running through her mind.

 **Rachel Berry** : _I love_.

 

* * *

 

Quinn keeps Rachel updated on everything she’s doing for the holidays, particularly after her trip to Maryland for the youth culinary camp.

Of course, Quinn also keeps the masses informed, but Rachel seems to get an insider’s view. Rachel’s the only person Quinn grumbles to about Frannie’s boyfriend, Simon, who she’s convinced is a right tool.

 _He has an actual beard comb, Rachel. Like, what the hell?_

It’s hilarious.

Quinn also complains that the boy has an apparent dislike of green beans, and she’s sorely tempted to make it the only side to their Christmas dinner.

 _Don’t be vindictive_ , Rachel tells her. _It’s Christmas_.

 _It’s the only reason I haven’t strangled him yet_.

Rachel wishes she were brave enough to dial Quinn’s number, just to talk to her. She thinks they might be approaching that inevitability, but she’s also terrified of having a live conversation with the girl. She’s able to keep a handle of herself if they’re texting, and she’s bound to make a fool of herself if she’s required to respond to some of the things Quinn says in person.

Rachel wanted to send Quinn an actual Christmas present, but she decided to sing her a song instead. The music to one of Quinn’s favourite song, _Collide_ by Howie Day, was easy enough to find, and she asked one of the guitarists in the school band to pre-record the accompanying guitar for her, and then she sang the song in her bedroom.

It’s a video meant solely for Quinn, with a personalised introduction, and she sends it to the blonde in an email just before she knows Quinn is supposed to be having Christmas dinner, just to give herself a little window to accept that this is probably the first time Quinn will ever hear her say her name.

It’s monumental, to Rachel.

This entire thing they’re doing; it’s real.

Rachel receives a reply via text nearly six hours later, when she’s crawling into bed after a day that’s been just a day for her and her family. The same way she accepts they’re culturally Jewish; they’re probably also culturally Christian. They don’t have a Christmas Tree, but they do put up a few decorations, just to fit in with the neighbourhood, perhaps.

She enjoys the _spirit_ of Christmas, and she loves the joy she sees in children’s faces around this time of year. She wishes she were still young enough to _believe_ , but that was robbed from her when she was still only six years old by a man with too much hatred in his soul.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _YOU. Rachel Berry, you’re definitely something special. Thank you so much for this. I’m pretty sure I’m going to listen to this on repeat for the rest of my existence, or something ridiculous like that. It was so surreal to have you actually talking to me, sort of. We should definitely get on that, shouldn’t we? I still find myself in awe of your voice, and I find I want to hear more of it. Thank you, again. You made my day. My year, in fact. Okay. That’s all I have to say._

Rachel reads the message four times, feeling something new every time she does, and it takes a full five minutes for her to compose a reply.

 **Rachel Berry** : _ME. You’re welcome, Quinn. I just wanted to do something special for you, and I’m glad you like it. We should, yes… and now I’m blushing. Was that your intention? Because you’ve succeeded. Sneaky little Fabray. I’m onto you ;)_

 **Quinn Fabray** : _I was never trying to hide, Rachel_.

If Rachel finds it an odd thing for Quinn to say, she doesn’t mention it.

 **Rachel Berry** : _Goodnight, Quinn :*_

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Goodnight, Broadway :) X_

 

* * *

 

It’s the smile that gives her away, she thinks, because her father shoots her a knowing smile when she literally jumps in place at the sight of Quinn’s name on her phone’s screen. She makes sure _not_ to look at him, because her face is flaming, and she loves that this is the life she gets to live. She can actually have a crush on a girl, and have her parents be okay with it. She knows not all gay teenagers are that lucky.

“Shut up,” she grumbles, as she opens the message Quinn’s just sent.

“I haven’t even said anything,” Hiram says.

“Well, you’re being really loud about it.”

Hiram chuckles softly. “What is she saying?”

“Who?”

He shoots her a significant look, and she flushes even more.

“It’s actually a video,” she says. “She’s with Noah at Times Square.”

Hiram frowns. “Noah?”

“Her best friend.”

He looks skeptical.

“He’s really just her best friend,” she says. “Do you remember Kayla Puckerman from _Top Chef Junior_?”

Hiram thinks back on Quinn’s season, and then nods. “She was the little eight-year-old Lucy kind of took under her tiny, tiny wing?”

Rachel rolls her eyes. “That’s the one,” she says. “Anyway, Noah is Kayla’s older brother, and he and Quinn have been friends since the show.”

“Cute,” he says, because it actually really is. “So, are we watching the video or what?”

Rachel hesitates. If this were any other crush, she would probably be jumping at the opportunity to watch it with her father, but there’s a part of her that’s still trying to wrap her head around the fact that she can actually talk to her parents about a _girl_. She appreciates how much he’s trying, though, so she leans in closer to him on the couch and opens the video.

They’re immediately hit with a burst of noise, and Quinn and Noah’s face are suddenly in view.

 

_“Are you recording?” Noah asks, yelling over the noise._

_“Yip,” Quinn says, her eyes focused on the camera. “Say something.”_

_Noah’s face splits into a grin. “Rachel Berry, Quinn talks about you all the time.”_

_Quinn’s eyes widen. “I do not!” she says, almost shrieking. “He’s lying, Rachel,” she adds; “and he’s also soon to be dead if he keeps this up. Just wish her happy new year, you idiot.”_

_Noah’s silent for a beat too long, and Quinn looks at him._

_“Oh, my God,” she says. “Can you pay attention for like five seconds?” When his gaze stays focused elsewhere, Quinn rolls her eyes and brings the camera closer to her own face. “There’s this girl he’s been making googly eyes at all night,” she explains. “I keep having to pinch him to get his attention. Boys are so stupid sometimes.” She smiles this smile that’s a little too secretive, and her eyes almost get a shade darker. “But, yeah, we’ve been planning for the moment he makes his move, but he’s just ruining it, right now.” She turns slightly. “But, enough about that. I just want to wish you Happy New Year, Rachel Berry. Out of all the things to come out of this year, I’d say you have to be one of the best.” And, then, Quinn actually blushes, and her eyes do this thing, softening in the dim light. “Anyway, we just wanted to say hi and we hope you’re having an awesome New Year’s Eve! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, okay?” She winks, and then smiles this blinding, beaming smile that makes the great big world fall to silence._

_Noah taps her shoulder. “She’s not looking at me anymore,” he says, sounding panicked. “What do I do?”_

_Quinn shakes her head. “You started too early,” she says. “Now, you’re just going to have to suck it up, go up to her and kiss her.”_

_Noah looks at Quinn, and then at the camera, and then back at Quinn. A slow, sneaky smile spreads across his handsome face, and then he says, “Take your own advice, Fabray.”_

_Quinn’s eyes widen again, almost comically, and then she’s scrambling to end the video. “Noah!” she hisses, and the last thing they hear is Noah’s laughter._

 

Rachel, honestly, isn’t sure what to feel when the video comes to an abrupt end. Her heart is pounding, and she’s fully aware her breathing is ragged. “Dad,” she whispers. “What - what did we just watch?”

Hiram breathes out slowly, and then pats her knee with his left hand. “I told you, Sweetheart,” he says. “It’s the eyes.”

 

* * *

 

Rachel doesn’t get around to replying to Quinn’s message until at least one o’clock in the morning. It’s not that she’s been particularly busy, but she doesn’t quite know how to.. play this, essentially. There’s one way her heart and entire being wants to take what the video might have revealed, but her mind is telling her to be cautious. Quinn obviously doesn’t want her to know anything yet, so maybe it’s best to avoid it entirely.

Rachel could also be way off base here, and it could all just be innocent teasing on Noah’s part.

Or -

Rachel just doesn’t know, and that’s why she really doesn’t know what to say to Quinn right now. If it _is_ what Rachel’s heart wants it to be, then she can only imagine Quinn’s potential panic in this moment. If she thinks Rachel might have figured it out, and _that’s_ why she’s taking so long to reply. Which, yes, _could_ be true, but it also couldn’t.

Which is why she has to be careful.

 **Rachel Berry** : _So, you talk about me all the time, huh? ;)_

There’s a certain terror that sneaks up on her when she sends the message, and she feels the fear spread through her limbs. There’s a very real part of her that wonders if she’s making a mistake; if they’ll end up missing this opportunity just because she’s too afraid to take the risk and actually address it. She can feel it swimming in her veins, and maybe _she’s_ the one who isn’t ready.

Quinn must realise that, too, maybe, or their lines are just so skewed that it doesn’t even matter. All Rachel knows is that she wakes to a message that puts that video and all it might have revealed right back into a box not to be opened until they’re _both_ ready.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Don’t let it go to your head now, Broadway :) Tell me, what are the plans for the first day of the new year?_

 

* * *

 

For the most part, Rachel’s January is an odd one.

The most notable things to happen are that Sam and Santana start to date… and then Finn and Santana start dating. There’s a bit of a cheating scandal involved, but Rachel doesn’t pay too much attention. She has school and dance classes and vocal lessons and her _YouTube_ channel and _Quinn_.

Because, the most eye-catching thing to happen in her January is that she and Quinn begin to talk on the phone.

It happens for the first time on the eleventh, after Rachel has just ranted about how unprofessional her fellow Glee Club members are. She’s just waited four minutes after sending the longest paragraph imaginable when her phone buzzes.

And then just keeps on buzzing.

She panics.

Of course, she panics.

She jumps up from her seat, and paces, trying to psyche herself up enough to answer the phone.

Which she eventually does.

Hesitant and unsure.

“Hello.”

There’s a soft breath let out on the other end of the line, and then a voice that utterly _wrecks_ her says, “Hey.”

Rachel’s eyes close at the sound, and her heart beats erratically. “It’s you.”

“It’s me,” Quinn says. “How are you?”

“That’s a bit of a loaded question at the moment.”

“Oh?”

“This is the first time we’re talking to each other, and I would rather not be complaining about my idiot classmates the entire time.”

Quinn chuckles softly, and Rachel positively melts at the sound. “I just thought it would be easier for me to be a sounding board this way,” she confesses. “Your poor thumbs must be tired.”

“They’re _fine_ ,” Rachel dismisses.

“So, if you don’t want to complain about school, what would you rather talk about?” Quinn asks. “Or, should I hang up and we can go back to texting?”

“Don’t you dare.”

This time, Quinn laughs properly, and Rachel’s chest blooms with warmth. “Noted,” Quinn says. “If you’re not going to complain about your day, can I complain about mine?”

“Of course,” she says, because she would like nothing more than to hear Quinn’s voice.

“Well, I had the _worst_ day,” Quinn starts. “I don’t know why I ever thought becoming a cheerleader would be a good idea, but I’d like to go back in time and tell myself that it’s not. At all.”

“I sometimes forget you’re a cheerleader.”

Quinn hums. “I hear something in your voice.”

“I don’t know - it’s just that the cheerleaders aren’t all that nice at my school, so I - “

“Are they stereotypical mean girls?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, Rach,” Quinn says, the words slipping out her mouth so easily that Rachel almost misses the shortening of her name.

Yip.

She’s never going to survive a life where she speaks to Quinn on a frequent basis. It’s just not a thing her heart will be able handle, and she’s quite certain this crush is going to kill her.

Quinn sighs. “We’re not like that at my school,” she says. “They have a pretty strict bullying policy, which is one of the reasons I started going there when I started high school. I wasn’t really protected as well when I was still in elementary school in Ohio and middle school in New York, and it’s one of the things my parents and I were looking for when I moved, I guess.”

“And, you were nine when you first moved to New York, right?”

“I tried out for the first season of _Top Chef Junior_ , as you know, but I didn’t quite make the cut, but the producers said I was almost there,” she says. “My parents then sat me down and asked me if being a chef was really what I wanted, and I said yes. Frannie was still a sophomore then, but she wanted to go to NYU eventually, so moving to New York was a bit of a no-brainer. The food industry is massive here, and I was always going to flourish more here than in Ohio, and I guess I have. Sort of.”

“Quinn, modesty is cute and all, but you’re a bona fide culinary rockstar, and you know it,” Rachel says before she can stop herself, and then her eyes widen when she realises what she’s just said. All she can hope is that Quinn doesn’t actually think to mention -

“You think I’m cute, huh?” Quinn asks, because she was always going to.

Rachel takes a deep breath, and then says, “Yes.” Her heart rate skyrockets the second the word leaves her mouth, and all she can hope is that this doesn’t ruin everything.

“Well, that’s good, then,” Quinn says, sounding entirely too calm. “Because, I think you’re kind of cute, too.”

Rachel audibly swallows. “Just ‘kind of?’”

“Yip,” she says, and then very carefully shifts the topic, which is enough for Rachel to know they’re getting closer to _something_ , though she doesn’t know what that something is yet.

 

* * *

 

 **Quinn Fabray** : _I’m making a song request for this week, because I’ve had a terrible one, and I think I deserve it_.

Rachel smiles to herself as she looks down at her phone’s screen while she waits for Glee to start. They’re just weeks away from their Regionals competition, and Mr Schuester has finally suggested that they write their own songs, which means that very little progress is being made.

 **Rachel Berry** : _I’m afraid you’re going to have to get in line, Fabray. I have a list of requests a mile long_.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _But, I’m special, and so I get special treatment._

 **Rachel Berry** : _Who told you such a thing?_

 **Quinn Fabray** : _I’m not special? :(_

Rachel can just imagine her adorable pout, and she wishes with all her might that they were in the same room. She has no idea what she would do if they were, but she wishes with all her might, regardless.

 **Rachel Berry** : _You are to me_.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _And, you’re the only one who matters, anyway_.

Rachel doesn’t normally swoon, but she finds she’s been doing a lot of it lately. It’s almost as if Quinn has made a very conscious decision to say and do things to get her blushing like the teenage girl she is.

Rachel is in the middle of typing her reply when Kurt and Mercedes enter the Choir Room together, the former looking particularly distressed about something. If they were any other people to each other, Rachel might have actually asked what was bothering him, but they’re not friends, and he’s made that abundantly clear on many occasions.

Still, she can’t help hearing his complaints over his lack of knowledge regarding a certain piece of clothing he absolutely adores, apparently.

“Why don’t you ask Rachel?” Mercedes suggests, forcing Rachel’s attention away from her phone. “She might know the answer.”

Kurt scoffs. “Rachel knows about as much about fashion as I do about baseball,” he dismisses; “which is nothing.”

Rachel drops her gaze, flushing slightly.

Mercedes notices, and shoots a glare at Kurt. “Just ask her,” she says. “She might surprise you.”

Kurt grumbles something under his breath, and then gets to his feet and crosses the room. He fiddles with something on his phone and then hands it to Rachel. “Not that I think you’ll actually know, but _do_ you happen to know what jacket this is?”

Rachel frowns slightly, and then looks at the screen. To say she’s surprised by what she sees is an understatement, because she’s presented with one of Quinn’s pictures on _Instagram_. It’s of her and Frannie, both girls bundled up against the cold.

Her eyes automatically widen. “Uh, which jacket?”

“The one Quinn is wearing,” Kurt says. “She’s the one of the left.”

“I know who Quinn is,” Rachel says tensely.

“You do?” Kurt asks, clearly surprised. “From _Chopped Junior_?”

“She was eleven when she was first on that show,” Rachel says; “but she was on _Top Chef Junior_ first.”

Kurt’s eyes grow wide. “You _do_ know Quinn, don’t you? I didn’t peg you for a fan.”

“Well, there’s obviously a lot you don’t know about me,” she mutters, and then hands him back the phone. “As far as I can tell, that jacket is an Alexander McQueen. Cherry red, wool and cashmere.”

Kurt blinks. “Oh?” he murmurs. “How - how did you know?”

“I get that I’m not some fashionista like you are, Kurt, but I pay attention,” she says. “And, if you were really a fan, you would know that she got the coat as a Christmas present from her grandparents. She posted about it.”

“And, you remember?”

Rachel shrugs. “It’s a nice coat,” she says. “I can see why you like it.”

Kurt merely nods. “Do you know where her grandparents got it?”

Rachel shakes her head. “It was a _gift_ , Kurt,” she says. “But, by all means, you can just ask her.”

“What?”

Rachel gives him a look. “Just, ask her,” she says. “On _Twitter_. She responds to fan questions all the time.”

Kurt drops into the seat beside her. “You’re like a legitimate fan, aren’t you?”

“I follow quite a few of those young chefs,” she says, slightly defensive. “For a little while there, I considered a career in food, because it just seemed so exciting, but I’ve come to realise cooking is not a particular talent of mine.”

“I’m more of a baker myself,” Kurt says. “My dad bought me her baking cookbook when it first came out, and our kitchen has turned into a bit of a war zone quite a few times.”

Rachel smiles softly. “My favourite recipe in that one is probably the shortbread,” she says.

Kurt laughs. “It’s the easiest one.”

“Exactly.”

Kurt shakes his head, clearly amused as he allows them to fall to silence. He doesn’t normally feel guilty when he’s harping on Rachel, but he can’t quite shake the feeling he’s done something really wrong.

Rachel lets the silence drag on, and then looks at her phone again. She deletes the message she was initially going to send to Quinn, and starts typing a new one.

 **Rachel Berry** : _I don’t know if I tell you enough, but I am so glad you’re my friend. Honestly, Quinn, I shudder to think what my life would be like if I didn’t have you to offset the legit horror show that is my high school experience. Just thought I’d let you know_.

She’s just sent the message when Kurt speaks again. “Look, Rachel, I’m so - “

“Kurt,” she interrupts. “I get it, okay? You don’t like me. I don’t need you to.” She sighs. “Sometimes, I just wish you would be kinder. It’s already hard enough out there, and it’d be nice for one place in this stupid school to be easy, don’t you think? I mean, I was under the impression that’s what everyone wanted: including you.”

Kurt clearly doesn’t know what to say to that, and Rachel breathes out in relief when the Choir Room starts to fill with other Glee members.

Rachel purposefully turns away from him, prompting him to return to his original seat beside Mercedes. A minute later, her phone buzzes, and she looks down at a picture Quinn has sent. It’s a close-up selfie of her sitting at a table with her chin resting on a _Starbucks_ coffee cup and a cute pout on her face. The caption reads: _why so sad, Broadway?_

It’s moments like these when she’s so sure she’s in love with this girl. She can’t even remember what her life was like before she and Quinn started talking. Did she ever consider herself happy? She can’t remember ever feeling this... content before.

Being with Jesse was... a rollercoaster. She knew it would eventually end, and then it did. Finn was something else entirely. She bent herself out of shape to mould to him, and, as much as the breakup hurt at the time, she’s relieved she gets to be herself again.

Quinn likes her just fine the way she is.

 **Rachel Berry** : _I just miss you, is all_.

It’s the first time she’s ever expressed the sentiment, and it baffles her slightly that it’s something she can even feel when the two of them haven’t even spent any time together.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _I’m going to call you later, okay? Me thinks you need to hear my voice, because I definitely need to hear yours_.

 **Rachel Berry** : _You really have the best ideas_.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Now that you mention it, did I or did I not say I have the perfect idea for a song for you to sing? ;)_

Rachel lets out a soft giggle, which she tries to suppress. She glances up to see if anyone has noticed, and she frowns when she notices Finn staring at her... and Santana scowling at her.

Wait.

What?

Before she can think about it too much, Mr Schuester is calling for their attention, and she’s suitably distracted from the weirdness of Finn and Santana, and the melancholy of missing someone she hasn’t even met.

 

* * *

 

“Good morning, good people,” Quinn says, smiling brightly at the camera. “Welcome to Latkes with Lucy.”

She almost rolls her eyes at herself, because, God, she absolutely hates that name. “I know I say this every time, but I really should change the name of this channel. It practically burns my soul to say the words out loud. I’m way too old for it, and I don’t even go by Lucy anymore.”

This time, she actually does roll her eyes.

“Anyway,” she says; “back to the topic of the week: coffee.” She pauses, grinning at herself. “I know what you’re thinking. What on earth does a high school junior know about coffee? Well, I’m about to tell you.

“Because my parents hate me, they didn’t really let me start drinking coffee somewhat regularly until I turned sixteen. And, even then, it’s been limited. They even switched it out to decaf this one time, and I was as miserable as you can imagine. I mean, I get it, but there have been some all-nighters that just screamed for caffeine.

“Like, just this passed week, actually,” she says. “I had the mother of all projects due for Chemistry, which, okay, I’ll admit to procrastinating just a bit, but I’m a busy person, and _Grey’s Anatomy_ is important to life.” Her smile is saccharine now, and she imagines whoever is watching must think she’s insane.

Granted, she probably is.

“I think I slept ten hours in three days, and I had cheerleading practice as well as CulClub, so I was about as exhausted as one could get, and all I wanted was sleep, but I needed coffee instead. And, okay, I’m familiar with coffee, because I’ve been making my dad’s coffee for him every morning since I was old enough to know how to do it exactly the way he likes. He’s particular about it. My mom calls him a coffee snob, but I have actually tasted bad coffee, and, God, I totally get it.

“So, today, we’re going to make the complete, perfect cup of coffee,” she says. “Well, we’ll be making three. I realise not everyone has the time to get the water to the correct temperature, and not everyone has a fancy coffee machine, so we’re going to cater for everyone. Well, nearly everyone. I mean, on an off day, I would happily just pop into _Starbucks_ than go through all this trouble. Maybe we are a family of coffee snobs.” She stops to think about it, and then winks at the camera.

“As I was saying,” she continues; “the perfect cup of coffee. I think it’s important to stipulate that it’s probably not the perfect cup for _everyone_ , so don’t end up suing me or something. I’m just a lowly high school student with dreams of being a Michelin Star, James Beard Award winning chef. So, basically, I have no money, and what money I do make goes to recipe books and truffles. Truffles are expensive, but they’re a luxury that are a must. Sometimes. Wow. I _am_ a snob.” She laughs to herself.

And, almost four hours later, in a yellow bedroom in Lima, Ohio, Rachel laughs as well, a steady smile on her face as she watches the nineteen minute video while simultaneously working on her English homework.

She’s not really one for coffee, but she can see its appeal. Her fathers drink it religiously, and she has been known to imbibe from time to time. Not as much as Quinn, obviously, and she reaches for her phone to text said blonde.

 **Rachel Berry** : _How hopped up on caffeine are you right now_?

Instead of a reply, her phone starts to ring with Quinn’s name lighting up her screen. She honestly doesn’t know if there will ever be a day when she gets used to this. Her heart always betrays her, and she always sounds particularly breathless when she eventually answers the phone with a quiet, “Hello.”

“I’m coming to Ohio.”

Rachel chokes on the air in her throat. “What?”

“Well, I’ll be in Columbus,” Quinn says. “Nobody really knows this yet - it’s an exclusive, Broadway, so you actually can’t tell anyone - but I’m going on a quick book tour over Spring Break, and Columbus is one of the cities we’re going to be in. For, like, only a few hours, but hey, I’m still coming to Ohio… which is closer than New York, right?”

Rachel can’t bring herself to speak, but she does make some kind of sound.

“Rach? You there?”

“You’re coming to Ohio?”

“Mhmm,” Quinn says. “In about two months, though, so don’t get too excited just yet. Hold onto it for closer to the time.” She falls silent, and Rachel can almost hear her thinking. “I, uh, kind of wanted to give you a large head’s up, because, well, I was kind of hoping you could maybe find a way to come to Columbus and we could, maybe, actually meet, in person.”

And, okay, Rachel is so charmed, she’s quite certain Quinn could have told her she’s in Columbus right now, and she would have found a way to get there this instant. “You want to see me?”

“Well, yes,” Quinn says; “and I’m kind of hoping you want to see me, too.” She clears her throat. “Unless I’m wrong, and we can forget this entire conversation. Really, I won’t mind if we - “

“I’ll be there,” Rachel interrupts.

Quinn’s mouth closes with an audible clack. Two beats later, she says, “You don’t even know the date.”

“Does it matter?” Rachel asks. “I’m going to be there.”

“Okay.”

“So, what’s the book about?” Rachel asks, shifting topics.

“Ooh, you’ll never guess,” Quinn says, and she sounds so excited.

“Please don’t say it’s vegan,” she says. Silence. “Quinn, no.”

Quinn lets out a laugh. “Okay, so, not actually vegan,” she says. “But there are _some_ vegan recipes in it. I’m on a bit of a health kick, as you know, and this book touches on how to keep kids eating healthy food that still actually tastes nice. It’s the most common misconception that food that’s good for you has to be bland, which isn’t the case at all.”

Rachel giggles softly. “And, you’ve already started your press tour, I see.”

“This is an exclusive, Rachel,” Quinn says happily. “Remember this day. You heard it here, first.”

“I’ve written it down,” she deadpans.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re mocking me?”

“Are these recipes French-inspired like your last book?”

“God, no,” Quinn says, and her voice is too bright. She’s definitely had far too much coffee. “French cuisine is lathered in butter, which doesn’t exactly scream healthy, you know? This book has quite a bit of Asian-inspired dishes. Lots of soups, because I’m a little bit obsessed at the moment, and sometimes you get to use the blender, which can be exciting.”

Rachel can’t help her laugh, because she’s never really spoken to Quinn when she’s not completely composed. This Quinn is slightly erratic, excitable, and it’s the cutest thing.

“So, you’re currently watching me, huh?” Quinn asks.

“I am,” Rachel says. “I like your shirt.”

Quinn hums. “I’m a Ravenclaw, you know?”

“Gryffindor.”

“I think I could have guessed that,” Quinn muses. “You’re fiery.”

“I don’t know if that’s an insult or not.”

“It’s not,” Quinn says, and she suddenly sounds so serious. “I never want to be a person who insults you, Rachel. Tease you, yes. Joke around, sure, but never anything that’s going to hurt you. I never want to cause you any kind of pain.”

“Quinn?”

“So, it’s not an insult, okay?” Quinn says. “I love Gryffindors. Noah’s one, did you know?”

“What is it with you and Jewish Gryffindors?”

Quinn laughs out loud, and Rachel sighs dreamily at the sound. “Who knows?” she says. “Even Kayla is a Gryffindor.”

“What about Frannie?”

“She likes to think she’s a Slytherin, but she’s really a Hufflepuff.” She giggles. “Her boyfriend, on the other hand...”

Rachel shakes her head in amusement. “Are they still together?”

“I honestly don’t know what she sees in him.”

“Love is blind, Quinn,” Rachel says.

Quinn groans. “But, it’s not deaf.”

Rachel’s laughter hasn’t stopped. “Have you told Frannie what you think?”

“Every opportunity I get,” she says. “We all have. I think she’s just keeping him around to spite my dad, because he made the mistake of saying he doesn’t approve. Frannie’s a Fabray, so she’s done exactly what I would do and continued to date him.”

“Does it rile up your dad?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Quinn says. “It’s hilarious.”

“Have you ever dated anyone your dad doesn’t approve of?” Frankly, Rachel doesn’t know what possesses her to ask the question, but she does.

Quinn falls silent.

Rachel waits.

Eventually, Quinn says, “No, I can’t say I’ve dated anyone he hasn’t approved of, yet.” She clears her throat. “For a while, he thought I would date Noah. I think the whole world still thinks we might end up together, but that’s definitely not happening. It’d be like dating my brother. Gross.”

Rachel should find it amusing, but she just can’t bring herself to. The mere idea of Quinn dating anyone just doesn’t sit well with her, and she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to deal with that, when it happens.

“Apparently, Frannie’s boyfriend has a younger brother who she intends to set me up with, but I would much rather eat my own eyeballs than have a conversation with a Simon clone. I think I’ll cry.”

And, that’s definitely not helping with Rachel’s plight.

“We - we don’t talk about this kind of thing, do we?” Quinn says, and her voice is quiet. “I don’t even know if you’re single or not.”

“I am,” Rachel says, and it sounds a bit rushed.

Quinn breathes out. “I am, too,” she says. “In case you were wondering.”

“I was.”

Quinn audibly swallows. “My last relationship was beginning of sophomore year,” she explains. “His name was Paul. He was the star quarterback, and I kind of fell into the whole high school fairytale of being his cheerleader girlfriend. We figured out pretty quickly we weren’t meant to be, and I’ve been blissfully single ever since.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Happy?”

“As I can be, yes,” Quinn says. “I have a lovely family, good friends, a promising career, and you. What more do I need?”

Rachel blinks. “Do I not fit into the bracket of ‘good friends?’”

Quinn is quiet for a moment. “No, you don’t,” she finally says. “Rachel Berry, you’re your very own category.”

“But, still good, right?”

“The best,” Quinn breathes, and then yawns. “Wow. That caffeine has worn off quickly.”

“Nap time?”

“Lunch time, and then nap time,” she says.

“Okay, then, let me finish up this horrible homework of mine while you cook up something scrumptious.”

“I’m thinking some fried chicken,” Quinn muses. “And waffles. And chilli maple syrup.”

“Gross.”

Quinn hums. “Okay, Sweets, I’m going to love and leave you now.”

Rachel’s heart leaps into her throat. She’s going to what?

“Bye, Rach, I’ll talk to you later,” Quinn says, yawning again, and then hangs up.

She said what?

Rachel almost laughs, because of course Quinn is the one to mention the word ‘love’ first, just so casually, and she probably doesn’t even realise it.

Well.


	3. Chapter 3

**III**

 

For the most part, Rachel is able to ignore the fact that Finn now seems to be staring at her a lot more often until Kurt explicitly points it out to her and says, “He definitely wants you back.”

If they were different people to each other, Rachel thinks she might have been able to confide in him about her sexuality, but they’re not friends and she really doesn’t trust him with something so personal.

“But, why?” Rachel asks, and she’s genuinely curious. “He seemed more than happy with the breakup, so what changed?”

“Well, I doubt he’s actually happy with Santana and, frankly, Rachel, it’s quite evident that _you’ve_ changed.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t quite put my finger on it, but you’re considerably less insufferable these days.” His smile is surprisingly playful, and she guesses he’s testing out how to tease without being insulting.

He still has a way to go.

Rachel knows her apparent ‘change’ has a lot to do with Quinn, but she’s not about to tell him that.

“What does any of that have to do with Finn?” she asks.

“Well, he’s notorious for wanting what he can’t have,” Kurt says. “We also always knew he and Santana were never going to last, so it’s only a matter of time before they break up, and then we all know he’s going to come back to you.”

Rachel frowns. “But, I don’t want him to come back to me.”

“You don’t?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh?”

Rachel says nothing.

“You just seemed really heartbroken after the breakup,” he points out.

“I was,” she confesses. “He lied to me, and they both made fools out of me. But, I’ve moved on from that, and I’m not going to be dating Finn Hudson again, so he should just stay exactly where he is.”

“Wow,” he says. “What happened to you?”

“I put myself first,” she says, and she nods her head as if she’s agreeing with her own assessment. Quinn has allowed her the freedom and courage to do just that; letting her know that she's free to be exactly who she is. “You’re afforded a lot of time to self-reflect when you have no friends. I finally stopped seeking out unworthy people’s attention and I stopped trying so hard to get people to like me. I suppose it goes without saying that the people who mind don’t matter, and the people who matter, don’t mind, right?”

Kurt is vaguely aware that he’s probably being insulted, but he can’t blame her. This new Rachel has some bite to her, and he thinks he’s starting to like her, if not respect her.

Rachel tells herself she’s not going to worry about Finn, which is a good thing, too, because she has bigger fish to fry.

She gets home to a panicked voicemail from Quinn, the girl ranting about how her sister told Simon’s brother, Scott, that she’ll go out with him for Valentine’s Day, and Rachel feels her stomach bottom out.

Quinn is going on a date.

With a boy.

For freaking Valentine’s Day.

If Quinn is having a near breakdown about it, then Rachel is on a different level entirely. She can’t bring herself to answer her phone when Quinn calls, citing that she has an extra Glee rehearsal, because she honestly doesn’t think she can have a conversation about this.

Not now.

Not ever, if she can help it.

 

* * *

 

With some effort, Rachel is able to relegate the upcoming date to the back of her mind long enough to practice, perform and record Quinn’s birthday present.

It’s another one of the blonde’s favourite songs, requested weeks ago and delegated to a very important list in her mind. Quinn is a fan of quite a lot of sad, emotional music, that tends to pull at people’s heartstrings.

_Someday Soon_ by KT Tunstall is one of those songs. Rachel has to admit to herself she didn’t know the song until Quinn mentioned it to her, and now she’s a little bit in love. With the song, yes, but even more with Quinn.

The personalised message she records before the song is... heartfelt, to say the least. She cries the first time and accidentally confesses her feelings, and then she has to record a second, more friend-focused one.

Of course, Rachel can’t quite top a personally signed vinyl record from Ed Sheeran, but she can do this, and the excited phone call she receives from Quinn during lunch makes her think Quinn might view this as worth more.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God,” Quinn practically screams into Rachel’s ear. “This is amazing. This is awesome. Thank you, thank you, I love you, I love you, I think I’m going to cry, and then die, and be completely happy about it!”

Rachel realises, as she listens to Quinn, that answering the phone while standing in the school corridor at her locker was a terrible idea.

Particularly when Quinn says the words ‘I love you’ twice in the same, endless sentence.

Rachel’s jaw drops, and her heart thumps, and -

And, she’s hit by a slushy for her troubles.

She screams, dropping her phone in the process.

There’s laughter all around her, and the only thing that crosses her mind is that she hopes Quinn isn’t hearing any of this.

_Quinn_.

Rachel ignores the sounds around her, quickly wipes at her eyes and then bends to retrieve her phone that’s mercifully managed to escape the brunt of the slushy attack.

Quinn is still on the line, and she’s in the middle of a rant when Rachel presses the phone back to her ear, absently reaching for her slushy kit in her locker.

“... and, I mean, there’s only so much silence a person can take, and I suppose I’m sorry if I just freaked you out, but I really didn’t expect you to scream, so I’m going to assume it’s something else, but I don’t really know what it could be, but then I remember you said that - “

“Hey.”

Quinn stops speaking immediately.

“I’m okay,” Rachel says. “It’s okay. We’re okay.” With her head held high, she reaches for her slushy kit and then walks through the amassed crowd, bypassing Finn, whose expression is difficult to read, and heads to the closest bathroom.

“What happened?” Quinn asks, and her voice sounds so small.

“Just teenagers being awful human beings.”

“Sweets, what do they do to you?”

Rachel hesitates.

“You can tell me,” Quinn whispers. “It’s okay. You know you can talk to me about anything.”

Rachel sighs. She locks the bathroom door, switches her phone to loudspeaker, and then sets it on the counter. “They - they do this thing here,” she starts, as she carefully wipes at her skin with paper towels. “They kind of throw slushies in your face.”

“ _What_?”

Rachel flinches at the pitch of Quinn’s voice, and she really doesn’t know what to say.

“That’s - that’s barbaric,” Quinn says. “God. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Rachel quietly says, moving to peel off her sweater. “I’m used to it by now, so I’m kind of prepared for it.”

Quinn lets out a growl. “What does that even mean?”

“I have a slushy kit prepared,” Rachel explains, gathering her hand towel from her bag and running it under the faucet. “With extra clothes and towels and the like.”

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Quinn says, and she sounds so angry.

It’s also the first time Rachel has heard her swear like that, and she’s surprised by her own reaction to it. Gosh, is she actually getting turned on right now?

“Where are you now?” Quinn asks.

“In the bathroom,” she says. “Getting cleaned up.”

Quinn sighs. “I really hate that this happens to you,” she says.

“It’s not just me,” Rachel says, as if it makes it any better. She knows Quinn knows she gets bullied, but she didn’t want her to know to what extent it goes.

“I’m sorry,” Quinn says, and she sounds it. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Rachel assures her. “I don’t want you to worry about this, okay? It’s your birthday, and this is supposed to be a good day.”

Quinn doesn’t say anything.

“So, you liked the video?” Rachel carefully prompts, wiping at her skin to rid herself of the stickiness of the sweet syrup. Her bra is safe, but she needs to change her top as well.

“I _loved_ the video,” Quinn says. “I love it, and it’s literally made my entire day, Rachel.” She takes a breath. “You know, people wish me happy birthday from everywhere, but nothing quite compares to you, and I just wanted to let you know. Thank you. I can’t even explain what it means to me.”

“I think I have an idea,” Rachel says.

“Yeah?”

She hums. “Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

While Rachel might be able to keep a relative handle on her feelings, they can tend to get out of hand when Quinn does things like this.

Quinn was surprisingly quiet and out-of-reach the Friday after her birthday, and Rachel figures out why during Saturday’s video. It’s one of the longest Rachel has seen, in excess of forty-five minutes, and that’s mainly because Quinn spends the first nineteen minutes explaining the anti-bullying campaign she’s just joined.

Rachel doesn’t realise she’s crying until Quinn starts telling a few stories about her experiences as Lucy, and how bullying has affected her own life. There’s something so painfully beautiful and raw about the words Quinn says, and Rachel is so in love.

“I always get people sending me stories about how cooking and my videos help them escape their lives, and I can’t tell you how much that all means to me,” Quinn says, and her voice trembles. “It’s all I’ve really wanted, really. I used cooking for an escape as well, and I’ve found such comfort in it. I’m so glad others have, as well, and that I’ve been able to be part of it.” Her smile is warm, open.

Rachel thinks Quinn hasn’t ever looked more beautiful.

Quinn clears her throat. “So, I’m inviting you all to take the Pledge with me, and help me and all the others on the campaign to end bullying,” she says. “We’re all just one person, and I’ve always wondered what I can do as one person, and this is it. If I do this, and you do this, and your friends do this: imagine what we could achieve all together.”

Quinn could probably ask them all to go out and rob a bank, and Rachel’s certain they would.

“Just, consider it,” Quinn says. “Read up on the campaign. All the information is in the description below and on my _Facebook_ page. There are other anti-bullying campaigns out there, so, if this one isn’t for you, please check out the others. I encourage you to get involved with your schools and communities to work towards making them better and safer for everyone.”

Rachel reaches for her phone, intending to call Quinn, but then stops when the Quinn on her laptop screen says, “Now that we’ve talked about that, let’s actually get to the cooking. Last week, we used coffee in our drinks, but we’re going to be using it in our food.”

Rachel actually cringes, because _what_?

“We’ll be making a double beef stew with coffee,” she says, “and we’re going to make an amazing spice rub using some espresso powder.”

Rachel presses pause on the video, and then calls Quinn... only for it to go to voicemail.

A minute later, Rachel gets a text from Quinn.

**Quinn Fabray** : _Hey, I can’t really talk right now. Mom and Frannie have monopolised my afternoon - I would much rather be at the restaurant - because they’re convinced I need a new outfit for my apparent date with Scott tomorrow. God. Somebody save me._

And, Rachel feels all her good feelings from earlier abruptly disappear. She desperately wants to ask Quinn not to go on this date. She wants to ask her not to go on _any_ date with anyone who isn’t her, but she knows she can’t.

Quinn’s apparent reluctance means very little now, because it’s still happening, and Rachel can’t stop her mind from imagining Quinn actually liking this boy and actually dating him and maybe eventually marrying him and living happily ever after with him.

Suddenly, she’s grateful Quinn can’t talk right now, because Rachel isn’t in any kind of frame of mind to pretend this isn’t affecting her.

Because, it is.

In ways she’s unprepared to deal with, and she doesn’t see how she or Quinn is supposed to have things figured out when everything is just so wrong. She’s starting to wonder if the fact that she’s very carefully avoided addressing anything Quinn has inadvertently revealed has made Quinn think she’s not interested.

Gosh, she hopes not.

With a sigh, Rachel begins to type.

**Rachel Berry** : _I’m thinking I should wish you good luck. Embrace it, Quinn. It’s new clothes, if anything. And, you never know, Scott might surprise you_.

She can’t escape the acid taste in her mouth, and she forces herself not to cry. What good will that do?

 

* * *

 

**Quinn Fabray** : _Okay. So. You’re not allowed to say ‘I told you so.’ Scott isn’t... terrible. (But, then again, compared to Simon, it’s unlikely he was going to be.)_

Rachel received the text hours ago, and she honestly has no idea what to say in response. Absolutely nothing comes to mind, and she doesn’t want to make any more mistakes.

So, she says nothing.

Which proves to be more of a mistake than saying something.

Anything.

 

* * *

 

On Tuesday morning, Rachel wakes to a text from Quinn that doesn’t really help with anything.

**Quinn Fabray** : _Rachel. Rachel. Guess where I am right now. You’ll never believe it. Holy shit. Just, oh my God. (By the way, you should definitely watch GMA this morning.)_

Rachel launches herself out of bed and rushes downstairs. She doesn’t even know what time it is, but she finds her father, LeRoy, in the kitchen. He looks as surprised to see her as she is to see him.

“Good morning,” he says.

“America,” is her response.

He frowns.

She shakes her head, and then goes into the living room and switches on the television. It’s not yet seven o’clock, but the promos for the upcoming _Good Morning America_ tells Rachel that Quinn is going to be interviewed.

Apparently, she’s part of the ‘Play of the Day,’ because her anti-bullying plea went viral over the weekend, and -

Rachel gasps. Quinn is going to be on actual television in forty-five minutes, and who even cares about Scott? She jumps in place, squeaking, and then rushes upstairs to get ready before the show starts.

_Whoa_ , is all she sends back to Quinn, and her response is: _Robin Roberts is a lot taller than I thought she would be._

So, it’s a positively vibrating Rachel Berry who eventually finds herself seated in front of the television when Quinn Fabray finally shows up on screen. Rachel is even skipping her first lessons for this, and she doesn’t even care.

Quinn looks amazing. She’s wearing a knee-length, black dress with a red blazer, her hair loose and curled perfectly. While Quinn’s segment is technically part of Entertainment, she gets to speak to both Robin Roberts and George Stephanopoulos about food and how it’s helped her overcome her own experiences with bullying.

“Why now?” Robin asks.

Quinn hesitates for a moment. “One of my closest friends is still going through it,” she finally says. “Sometimes, it’s easier to ignore it and pretend it’s not really happening. She’s one of the kindest people I know, and I absolutely hate that people - teenagers - think it’s okay to hurt her. I didn’t realise the extent of it until this week, because she tried to hide it from me, but I found out, and I wanted to do something. I feel a responsibility to her, to my fans and myself to do something.”

Robin smiles at her. “That’s truly admirable, Quinn,” she says. “Your friend is lucky to have you.”

Quinn blushes slightly, and says, “I like to think it’s the other way around.”

Rachel pretty much dies and goes to heaven.

George speaks next. “We hear you have some news for us.”

“Oh, yes,” Quinn says, straightening in her seat. “I have a new cookbook coming out on the third of March,” she says, smiling brightly. “It’s focus is on healthy eating that’s actually tasty.”

Robin laughs. “It’s important to tack on that last part, isn’t it?”

Quinn nods. “It’s a common misconception, yes,” she says. “As much as I’d like to think I’m a grownup, my parents and sister love to remind me I’m really just a kid.” She rolls her eyes to prove a point, and there’s laughter to be heard. “So, the recipes in the book are designed to make healthy eating, essentially, fun for kids, by encouraging them to prepare their food themselves.” She sobers suddenly, and it’s as if the studio falls silent with her.

“Quinn?” Robin gently prompts.

She visibly swallows. “A lot of my own bullying experience was centred around my weight,” she says, and her voice is low. “I was considered overweight, I guess, and I was teased about it, a lot, and I took it to heart in some of the worst ways. I didn’t think I could tell my parents about it, because I was supposed to be strong like my sister.” She traps her bottom lip between her teeth. “So, I stopped eating,” she confesses. “In my mind, it was the only way to lose the weight and stop the other kids from picking on me, which was a terrible idea, of course. When my mom found out, she didn’t confront me about it in a way I think parents might want to - _thank you, Mom_ \- but she rather had me start making dinner with her, and it’s the single thing that has changed my entire life.

“I think, by having kids participate in what they put into their bodies, you’re teaching them the importance of knowing what they’re actually eating. It helps track vitamins and nutrients, proteins and good fats and carbohydrates, and it can be exciting. I definitely have a better appreciation for certain vegetables, but I agree with majority of the population that Brussels Sprouts shouldn’t exist.”

The fact she ends with a joke helps counteract the intensity of her confession, and George is able to smile as he segue-ways into the next part of Quinn’s interview.

“I assume you have to get to school after this,” George says.

Quinn sighs dramatically. “I tried to get my mom to let me skip the entire day, but no dice,” she admits, getting another laugh. “The rest of the day is going to pale in comparison to this morning’s excitement.”

“Completely understandable,” Robin says, winking. “You’re a junior, correct?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Robin looks a little caught off guard by Quinn’s manners. “Are you already making plans for college?”

“I’ve wanted to go to culinary school since I was about seven,” she says; “but I also want to study something in business to help with managing my career, and probably also something in art to help with my food presentation, and then also English and Creative Writing, because I want my cookbooks to be some of the best.”

“Wow,” George murmurs at the same time Robin asks, “You enjoy writing?”

Quinn nods. “It’s one of my favourite things to do.”

“Not cheerleading?”

Quinn laughs. “I think you’re trying to get me in trouble with my Coach,” she says. “We have our Regionals’ competition on Thursday, and I would really like to stay Captain long enough to lead us to a Nationals’ Title, thank you very much.”

“I don’t know where you find the time,” George says. “On top of cheerleading, you’re a part of the Culinary Club at your school, a straight-A student, working at Le Rendezvous in Manhattan all while producing three weekly videos on your _YouTube_ channel, Latkes with Lucy.”

Quinn winces.

“Why the face?”

Quinn blushes. “I’ve really been meaning to change that name,” she says. “I just never get around to it.”

Robin smiles. “What would you call it?”

“Funnily enough, I haven’t really given it much thought,” she says. “Before I asked to be called Quinn, my sister used to call me Charlie, just because she could tell I didn’t have good memories attached to Lucy. So, maybe... Cheerios with Charlie? I don't know.” She shakes her head. “Ugh. Maybe we’ll just leave it to the Twittersphere to figure it out for me.”

Robin glances at the camera. “You heard it here first, good people,” she says. “Quinn is looking for a new channel name. Think you can help her out?”

Quinn groans softly. “Now, I’m never going to be able to get my homework done.”

George laughs. “It’s easy to forget you’re a teenager,” he says; “with all the success you’ve already garnered. It was just your birthday, correct?”

“Last Thursday.”

“Well, happy belated birthday,” he says. “Did you have to bake your own cake?”

Quinn laughs. “I might have, but Kayla surprised me.”

“Kayla Puckerman?” Robin asks.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Quinn says. “Cakes are more her expertise than mine, anyway, so I was pretty happy about that.”

Robin smiles widely. “Well, we hope you had a lovely birthday,” she says. “And, good luck for the book release, and whatever else you have going on.” She shifts slightly. “I’m certain your video has resonated with children and parents alike, and I commend you for taking a stand against something so abhorrent.”

“Thank you,” Quinn says, and her voice is quiet. “And, thank you for having me; for helping me shine a light on something that affects more children than we care to acknowledge.”

“You truly are a role model, Quinn, and I’m sure there are a lot of parents and kids out there who appreciate what you’ve set out to do.”

“Thank you,” Quinn whispers this time.

Rachel misses everything that Robin says after that, because her eyes are solely on Quinn, who suddenly looks so small, and Rachel isn’t sure why. More words are said, and then the camera is panning away from Quinn and the co-anchors, and Rachel is so tempted to reach into the television and touch her.

Comfort her.

Reassure her.

Something.

But, really, she needs to get to school first.

 

* * *

 

While Rachel tries to get to the bottom of Quinn’s sudden melancholy, she also has to deal with the very real fact that Scott may or may not actually be becoming a thing in Quinn’s life.

Quinn mentions him on Tuesday afternoon, twice on Wednesday, and Rachel stops replying on Thursday, because Quinn is going out for ice-cream with the boy after her cheerleading Regionals competition.

Rachel doesn’t really know how it happens, but she ends up in tears at some point and, after her sob session, she has a full song written right in front of her. It’s about Quinn, she knows, and she doesn’t know how to settle the swirling feelings inside of her without completely ruining the single most important, non-familial relationship in her life.

Once she’s gone through the song a handful of times, she goes downstairs to find her fathers sitting together on the couch. Without saying a word, she moves to settle between them, shoulders hunched, and says, “I’m in love with Quinn.”

Neither of them says a word.

“She’s currently on a date with a boy.”

Hiram places a hand on her back, rubbing soft circles.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” she whispers. “What if - what if I missed my chance?”

The silence that follows is heavy, and she glances at Hiram.

“So much for the eyes, huh?”

 

* * *

 

Later, when Rachel gets back to her bedroom, she finds three texts from Quinn, and she really doesn’t know what to make of them.

**Quinn Fabray** : _This is why it’s just better to stay single_.

**Quinn Fabray** : _Boys are so stupid_.

**Quinn Fabray** : _Do you think I’m a loser_?

Rachel feels a flash of irritation at Quinn, and a wave of anger at whatever this Scott must have said to warrant these three messages.

With a sigh, Rachel begins to type.

**Rachel Berry** : _I could have told you that, Quinn. You didn’t have to go out with one to have to figure it out. And, if you’re a loser, then I’m a loser. We can be losers together, you and me_.

And, because she really doesn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with this, she sends another one.

**Rachel Berry** : _I’m headed to bed. It’s been a long day. Goodnight :) X_

 

* * *

 

In the morning, there’s no reply from Quinn, but there’s another, very prevalent melody swimming in her subconscious, and she spends a few moments trying to grab onto it.

The words come pretty easily after that.

All of Friday is spent rehearsing for their own Regionals competition, and it’s just the distraction she needs to keep her mind off the situation she may or may not find herself in with Quinn.

She’s angry with the girl, and she’s angry with herself for being angry with her. It’s not Quinn’s fault this is happening. How is Quinn supposed to know what’s bothering her when she hasn’t even _told_ the blonde?

Still, the silence hurts when she finally climbs into bed on Friday night, and her phone has only SPAM.

And, not the Quinn kind.

With a sigh, she opens _Twitter_ to see if Quinn has been active, and her heart beats a little faster when she sees that Quinn _has_. Her following has tripled since her interview on _Good Morning America_ , and she’s been receiving hundreds of suggestions for her new channel name.

Quinn has liked and replied to many tweets, and Rachel even sees one that’s probably Kurt, which makes her feel something she doesn’t quite understand.

There’s jealousy, she’s sure, but there’s something else. Betrayal, maybe, which is just ridiculous.

What’s also borderline crazy is that she misses Quinn something awful. She wants to call her and just talk to her and apologise for something she doesn’t even know she’s done.

Quinn’s last tweet is a goodnight one, and Rachel almost imagines it’s directed at her.

**Quinn Fabray - @lucyquinnfabray  
** _Goodnight, good people :) Remember, there’s no normal posting tomorrow, but I’ll upload some footage from our Culinary Club Regionals once it’s over. Wish us luck! X_

Rachel sighs. She almost forgot Quinn has her own Regionals this weekend.

She doesn’t even know if she won her cheerleading ones.

Everything just feels wrong.

She doesn’t know how to make it right.

 

* * *

 

Rachel asks her fathers to record the New Directions’ performances for her to upload to BroadwayBerry later in the evening.

The songs are personal to her and, as some of her first published original songs, she thinks she did all right.

The problem, she realises, with singing such a personal song about a girl nobody even knows about makes people ask questions, and those questions suddenly include Finn and Santana.

_Get It Right_ , which is a song she wrote during a sobbing stupor, reveals far too much about her own feelings on the matter of Quinn.

While her disinterest towards Finn has been the theme of the month, the boy still assumes the song is about him, and Santana goes into a bit of a tailspin about it, confronting her in the bathroom after they’ve been awarded the win.

And, it’s during said confrontation that Rachel makes the mistake of saying, “It’s not about Finn.”

Santana’s expression changes immediately. “Then, who is it about?”

Rachel rolls her eyes. “What makes you think it’s about anyone?” she asks. “Just know it’s not about your boyfriend. What else does it matter?” And, Rachel is so tired of all of this.

She misses Quinn, and she really doesn’t need Santana trying to rile her up. She has enough problems of her own, and she’s just creating more, apparently, because uploading her own performances results in Quinn sending her a text message that chills her to the bone.

**Quinn Fabray** : _Rachel, is there something you need to tell me?_

For the most part, Rachel doesn’t think Quinn actually thinks the song is about her, but it does raise questions about whatever Rachel may or may not be going through. Something that Rachel hasn’t told Quinn, apparently.

With a shake of her head, Rachel bypasses a text reply and rather dials Quinn’s number.

“Hello,” Quinn answers after four rings, and she sounds hesitant.

“Hey.”

“Are you okay?”

“Are we fighting?”

Quinn breathes out. “I don’t know,” she says; “are we? What would we even be fighting about?”

And, frankly, Rachel doesn’t know how to answer that. So, instead, she says, “you saw my video.”

“I did,” Quinn says. “You were amazing. You _are_ amazing.”

Rachel closes her eyes, and then sighs. “I watched you, too, by the way,” she says. “You saved your team with that Hollandaise.”

“I told you everything is better with butter,” Quinn says, and then falls to silence for several crucial beats. “Hey, Rach?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you sing it for me?”

Rachel audibly swallows. “Which one?”

“You know which one.”

Rachel already suspected Quinn wouldn’t want to hear _Loser Like Me_ , so she clears her throat and quietly starts to sing, her eyes closing as she pictures Quinn’s face as if the girl is sitting right in front of her.

_What have I done?_  
_I wish I could run_  
_Away from this ship going under_  
_Just trying to help_  
_Hurt everyone else_  
_Now I feel the weight of the world is on my shoulders_

_What can you do when your good isn't good enough_  
_And all that you touch tumbles down?_  
_Cause my best intentions_  
_Keep making a mess of things_  
_I just wanna fix it somehow_  
_But how many times will it take?_  
_Oh, how many times will it take for me to get it right, to get it right?_

_Can I start again, with my faith shaken?_  
_Cause I can't go back and undo this_  
_I just have to stay and face my mistakes_  
_But if I get stronger and wiser, I'll get through this_

_What can you do when your good isn't good enough?_  
_And all that you touch tumbles down?_  
_Cause my best intentions keep making a mess of things_  
_I just wanna fix it somehow_  
_But how many times will it take?_  
_Oh, how many times will it take for me to get it right?_

_So I throw up my fist, throw a punch in the air_  
_And accept the truth that sometimes life isn't fair_  
_Yeah, I'll send out a wish, yeah, I'll send up a prayer_  
_And finally someone will see how much I care_

_What can you do when your good isn't good enough?_  
_And all that you touch tumbles down?_  
_Cause my best intentions keep making a mess of things_  
_I just wanna fix it somehow_  
_But how many times will it take?_  
_Oh, how many times will it take, to get it right?_  
_To get it right?_

“Rachel,” Quinn whispers when the song is over.

“Hmm?”

“You are beautiful, did you know that?”

“I don’t - “

“You are,” Quinn interrupts. “You are, Rachel. Please believe me.”

Rachel has no rebuttal.

“Please can we stop fighting,” Quinn says, almost pleading. “I never want to spend another day not talking to you.”

Rachel can’t even bring herself to speak.

“Scott isn’t a thing,” Quinn adds a moment later. “He - he was - “ she stops. “I was just trying to make my family happy, I guess. I think they can tell that there’s... something different about me.”

Rachel’s sure she’s not breathing.

“He’s an idiot, and he’s nothing, and I get the feeling I should be apologising, so I’m saying sorry, Rachel. I’m sorry, okay? Please, please can we stop fighting?”

“We’re not even fighting, Quinn,” she finally says, finding her voice.

“Then, what are we doing?”

It’s the age-old question, and Rachel doesn’t have an answer for her. “I don’t know,” she finally responds.

They descend into silence for the longest time, and Rachel just listens to Quinn’s breathing, utterly mystified. Quinn is real, and she’s on the phone, and Rachel still wants to reach through the receiver and touch her.

“Are you still coming to see me?” Quinn eventually asks.

“Of course.”

“Will you know what we’re doing by then?”

Rachel does a quick calculation. It’s about five weeks’ away, give or take, and she likes to think she’ll have a handle on her own feelings by then. The problem, now, is trying to figure out _Quinn’s_... without revealing her own.

Maybe she should speak in hypotheticals.

Somehow, she’s going to have to get it out of Quinn, and she has five weeks to figure out just how she’s going to do that.

“Yes,” Rachel confirms, and she tries to sound sure, when she’s anything but.

 

* * *

 

It ends up taking just under three weeks, and her idea comes in the form of Kurt Hummel.

Rachel is scrolling through _Twitter_ when she spots one of Kurt’s tweets at Quinn, and it sparks in her head that they can touch on homosexuality through Kurt, who is now out and proud. It’s perfect.

Rachel first asks about whether Quinn has noticed the user @LadyHummel via text, mainly because she doesn’t know if she can handle it any other way. The written word is safer.

But, then, Quinn is doing the thing and actually calling her.

Despite Rachel’s resolve, she’s always going to want to hear Quinn’s voice, so, of course, she’s going to answer.

“Hello,” she says, smiling automatically.

Quinn sounds slightly distracted when she asks, “Why are we talking about, uh, Kurt Hummel?” She puffs out a breath. “He was the guy I told you was way too interested in my coat.”

Rachel can’t help her laugh. “He’s one of my classmates,” she tells Quinn. “He asked me about the coat, and I told him to ask you.”

“Why didn’t you just tell him to scroll back on my _Instagram_?” Quinn grumbles.

“He wanted to know where you got it.”

“It was a _gift_ ,” Quinn says, sounding exasperated. “I was not about to call my grandparents and ask them where they bought it for me. _Jesus_.”

“God, you’re special.”

Quinn hums. “Again, why are we talking about him?”

“Oh, well, I just saw that he asked you another question about that scarf your mom bought for you.”

“You’ve created a monster!” Quinn says, laughing lightly. “Is he really that interested in fashion? In _ladies_ ’ fashion?”

“Mainly just fashion,” Rachel says. “For as long as I can remember, he has been. I think he might even go into designing if performing doesn’t work out for him.”

“He’s also in Glee?”

“Yes.” Rachel can practically hear the cogwheels turning in Quinn’s Head.

“Rachel?”

“Hmm?”

“His bio has a rainbow,” Quinn says. “In Lima, Ohio.”

“I know.”

“Does he get bullied for it?”

“Endlessly.”

Quinn sighs. “People can be cruel,” she says. “I wish we were better.”

“There was one particular boy,” Rachel starts. “Well, there still is, I guess. He’s very... persistent. He’s very clearly homophobic, and he’s unafraid to show it.”

“Are there a lot of people like him there?” Quinn asks.

“Like Kurt?” Rachel asks.

“No. The other one.”

Rachel closes her eyes. “Yes, they are.”

There’s another, long silence, and Rachel waits, forcing herself to be patient. She thinks something is happening, but she can’t be sure.

“I don’t like people like that,” Quinn says, and her voice is low. “I - I’m not one of them, you know?”

Rachel feels a smile spread across her face. “I’m not, either,” she says. “At all.”

“Is this Kurt your friend?”

Rachel lets out an unexpected laugh. “God, no,” she says. “We can barely tolerate each other, and it has nothing to do with his sexuality.” She puffs out a breath. “Quinn?”

“Yeah?”

“I have to tell you something.”

“Okay...?”

“The reason I know there are a lot of homophobic people in this town is because I’ve dealt with them first hand,” she says, almost rushing the words. “I have two fathers.”

The silence that follows is heavy.

“Do they bully you for it?” Quinn asks, which is really not what Rachel is expecting the first thing she says to be.

“Sometimes,” she admits. “Regardless, though, I think I would give them enough reason to without my parentage.”

“Fucking savages.”

Rachel flinches. “Quinn?”

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really,” she confesses. “It’s nothing to do with what you’ve told me, okay? I - I don’t care about any of that. As long as you exist in the world, I don’t care where or how or anything about how you came to be. Just that you did.”

“But, something is wrong,” Rachel says. “I can tell. I - I noticed it at the end of the interview.”

“You did?” Quinn asks, and she sounds surprised.

“What happened?”

“I lied to you,” she says, and Rachel holds her breath. “Sort of. I don’t know.”

“About what?”

“When we made the move to New York, I wanted to be anyone but the person I was in Ohio,” she says. “I couldn’t escape Lucy, and I so badly wanted to. I remember talking to Frannie about it, because she was so popular and well-liked, and I wanted to be more like her, so they would stop picking on me.

“She told me that there are two types of people in school: those who do whatever it takes to survive, and those who end up as collateral damage. I was the latter, and she was the former, and I was going to have to adjust my conscience to get through the upcoming years. I don’t know what type of person it makes me that I was willing to be the bully just so I wouldn’t be the bullied again.”

Rachel audibly swallows. “Were you?”

“For all of forty minutes, yes,” Quinn says. “My first day of school after we moved to New York, all I wanted was to fit in, but - “ she stops. “There was this girl, Anna, who was even more hopeless than I was, and the other kids targeted her from the very beginning, and I just... couldn’t. I remember that exact moment sometimes, recalling that decision that was placed right in front of me: laugh with everyone else, or be the person who helped her get up from where Eric Jimenez tripped her.”

“You chose the latter,” Rachel says.

“But, I was so close to choosing the former,” Quinn says. “It would have been so much easier, because then it was just Anna and me against the rest of them. New York was supposed to be different, you know, but the beginning of my time here was hard.”

“But, high school was when it got better?”

“I’m Quinn, now,” she says. “When I moved schools, I wanted to go to a place where bullying didn’t happen, and I wasn’t aware that such places existed.”

“Do they?”

“No,” Quinn says. “They try, of course, but some of it sneaks in. I’m lucky, though, because I’m Head Cheerleader and somewhat known throughout the school, but this entire anti-bullying campaign has made me wonder about all the kids that end up falling through the cracks.”

It’s impossible, Rachel thinks, for her to feel any more love for this gorgeous, precious girl. “It’s not all on you, Quinn,” she softly says.

“Logically, I know that, but I sometimes feel guilty that I’ve been able to make it out, and others haven’t.”

“You’re doing all you can.”

“Am I?”

“You are,” Rachel assures her. “I am. We all are, okay? We’re all just one person, but we can achieve a lot when we’re all together.”

“Are you just throwing my words back at me?”

“It’s something I think about a lot, actually,” Rachel tells her. “How much better the world would be if everyone could just take their own advice?”

Quinn chuckles. “Human beings are idiots.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Quinn hums a short tune. “So, are you going to tell me about your fathers?” she asks. “Which one is the vegan?”

“His name is Hiram, and he’s a lecturer,” Rachel says, feeling at ease talking to Quinn about this. “He’s where I get my Jewish heritage from, but he kind of left the religion when his family, essentially, disowned him.”

Quinn sucks in a breath.

“My other Dad is LeRoy,” Rachel continues. “He’s a trauma surgeon, which is really as cool as it sounds.”

“Owen Hunt vibes?”

“Who?”

Quinn clicks her tongue. “Oh, right, I forget how uncultured you are.”

“Was that some popular culture reference I didn’t get?”

“You make me so tired, sometimes.”

Rachel giggles, and then sobers slightly. “I call Hiram Dad, and LeRoy is Daddy. His family also weren’t and aren’t supportive of them. I’ve met only two members of both their families, but they don’t come around anymore. It’s just them and me, and that’s all I’ve ever needed.”

“Can - “ Quinn starts and stops, breathing out.

“You can ask.”

“Can I ask about your mother?” Quinn questions. “I mean, I assume you must have one.”

“I do,” Rachel says. “I’ve met her, actually. Sophomore year. We’re not exactly on good terms.”

“Oh? Shit, I’m sorry, Rach.”

“It’s not your fault, Quinn,” she says. “I guess she just didn’t really expect me to be the way I was when we finally met.”

“And, what the hell does that mean?” Quinn practically growls.

“I’ve accepted it,” she says. “I would much rather not get into it, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay,” Quinn says softly. “I’m sorry your mother’s kind of a bitch and your fathers’ families are such assholes.”

Rachel giggles. “I don’t want people in my life who can’t accept everything about me.”

“Is - is that why you took so long to tell me?” Quinn asks, and her tone is purely curious and not accusing. “Were you worried I would - “

“I didn’t want to lose you,” Rachel interrupts. “I still don’t.”

“You’re never going to lose me,” Quinn assures her. “That’s never going to happen.”

“How can you say that?” Rachel asks. “You don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“That may be so,” Quinn allows; “but I know what I _want_ to happen, and you’re stuck with me for forever. For always, Rachel.”

“You’re mine,” Rachel says, and it takes her back to her birthday card.

“ _Yours_ ,” Quinn confirms, and it’s as if they’re making vows to each other. It’s heavy and terrifying, but Rachel isn’t going to hide from it. She knows Quinn would accept her sexual preference, if not her feelings.

That’s one less thing to worry about.

“Rachel?”

“Hmm?”

“My family,” Quinn says. “My family, I think they’re like your fathers’ families.”

Rachel isn’t sure what to say to that, because Quinn must be telling her this piece of information for a reason. “Are you sure?” she asks, because family has a habit of surprising you.

“I’m sure,” Quinn says. “These things, you just know.” She clears her throat. “Do - do you ever wonder how it’ll affect your career?”

“All the time,” Rachel breathes, and she’s referring to her own sexuality now. “But, I wouldn’t want to become someone or be part of something where I wasn’t truly accepted for who I am and where I come from. It’s probably a naïve thought, and I probably won’t be given the luxury of choice, but I want to reach stardom being true to myself.”

“I don’t know if I would be so brave,” Quinn whispers.

“I think you’re braver than you think, Quinn,” Rachel says. “Look at what you’ve accomplished so far.”

Quinn remains silent.

“I forgot to tell you, actually,” Rachel says, thinking they need a change of topic; “I made that chilli paste stir fry from page thirty-two today.”

“Ooh,” Quinn says, suddenly perking up. “How did it turn out? Did you post about it?”

“It was... edible,” Rachel says, laughing softly. “And, I didn’t post it, no. I can just send it directly to the source.”

“Hello, that's totally me.”

“Hi, you.”

“It’s actually one of my favourite recipes from the new book,” Quinn confesses. “It’s probably one of the first things I ever cooked with my mom.”

“You mentioned that.”

“I forget how much attention you pay,” Quinn says. “I’ve never really had anyone who cares this much about what I say.”

“We’ve been good for each other, haven’t we?”

“The best,” Quinn confirms seriously. “You’ve been the absolute best.”

 

* * *

 

The panic about meeting Quinn doesn’t really set in until one week before the blonde is scheduled to be at a book signing in Columbus, Ohio.

One week.

Seven days.

Rachel almost wants to call the entire thing off, but Quinn has been planning her entire visit to the hour, because they’re probably only going to get only one hour to spend together, and that’s after Quinn has begged and pleaded and shifted things around until she’s blue in the face.

They have sixty minutes between the end of Quinn’s book signing and when she’s expected to leave for the airport for their flight to Detroit for the next leg of the brief tour.

Sixty minutes.

Rachel is nervous and excited and terrified and anxious and all those other feelings that almost make her want to crawl under the covers of her bed and hide away for a while.

She’s going to see Quinn. She’s going to be able to look into Quinn’s eyes, possibly even touch her. They’ll get to hug, probably. Maybe they’ll even take a picture together.

Rachel has her own plans for those sixty minutes, so she’s completely and utterly distraught when they get cut down to thirty-seven.

The line waiting to see Quinn is still outside of the bookstore when she arrives, and Rachel feels her heart sink as she slips inside and heads towards where Quinn told her to go. She’s supposed to find Quinn’s mother, Judy, who’s supposed to call an end to proceedings.

That end comes twenty-three minutes behind schedule, and Quinn looks particularly livid about it.

Because, Rachel can see her. She can actually see the hazel of her eyes and the blonde of her hair and the pearly white of her teeth and the slight furrow in her brow and the evident tension in her shoulders.

Rachel thinks she’s prepared, but she’s really not. Quinn is so much prettier in real life. She’s this entire person, with this twinkle in her eye and gorgeous smile, and Rachel is ruined.

And, then, she’s wrecked completely when Quinn finally sees her, her entire demeanour shifting, her smile blinding and her eyes wide.

Thirty-seven minutes and counting.

They have to wait until they’re somewhat alone, hidden in the offices of the bookstore to share their first hug. Quinn is somewhat famous, and her friendships and relationships need to be preserved.

So, it’s with thirty-five minutes left that Quinn carefully slips her hand into Rachel’s and leads the way to the room that was sectioned off for this precise occasion. It’s just an office, but there are bottles of water and jalapeño poppers on the desk, and Rachel is so charmed.

She was always going to lose this battle.

She wasn’t even involved in the fight.

Once the door is closed behind them, shutting away prying eyes and the questions of Quinn’s mother and agent; Quinn tugs Rachel into a hug that lasts three of those very important minutes.

Now, Rachel has imagined what it would feel like to hug Quinn many times before, but her imagination has paled in comparison. Quinn’s arms wrap around her waist, as hers embrace strong shoulders. Her eyes close automatically, and this moment is everything.

_Everything_.

Rachel counts the number of breaths she takes, revelling in the way their bodies just seem to fit so perfectly together. Their hearts are even beating in sync.

Quinn hasn’t even said a word to her.

Well.

“Hey,” Quinn whispers, warm breath against Rachel’s cheek.

Rachel breathes out, smiling. “Hi.”

Quinn squeezes her once more, and then slowly releases her. When their eyes meet, Rachel immediately knows the answer to every single question either of them has asked of each other.

It’s just there, hanging between them. Every word they’ve ever exchanged and every feeling they haven’t expressed.

Suddenly, Rachel just knows.

Still, Quinn does the thing and finally asks, “What are we doing?” in a whisper.

And, then, the two of them spend the next twelve minutes making out.

It shocks Rachel at first, a surprised squeak escaping her lips before she immediately sinks into the kiss, her heart beating a mile a minute. Everything just seems so amplified, all of a sudden, and she can barely keep up with the taste and the smell and the _feel_ of Quinn.

Quinn.

All she knows is this: she’s kissing Quinn Fabray.

Fireworks are going off behind her eyes, and the kisses are just as electrifying, if not a little hesitant at first. She lets out an involuntary moan at the first touch of Quinn’s tongue, and her fingers slip into soft blonde hair to deepen the contact.

It grows heated, and hands start to roam, and the sounds of their panting are getting louder and louder, filling her senses.

It’s Quinn.

Quinn’s fingers and Quinn’s lips and her tongue and teeth. Her hands feel as if they’re everywhere, drawing Rachel closer with every moment that passes, making her fall deeper and deeper.

Rachel wouldn’t say she comes to her senses, exactly, but she does seem to come back to... something. Her mind, maybe, or the Earth, because she was floating through the air a second ago.

Quinn’s eyes are closed when Rachel pulls away, and she spends the next minute staring at the sheer perfection right in front of her. This is definitely not how she was expecting these sixty minutes to go, but she knows they have only nineteen minutes left, now, and they really need to talk.

Eventually, Quinn’s eyes open, and she smiles this smile that makes Rachel’s heart stutter. “Jalapeño popper?”

Rachel lets out a laugh. “It’s you.”

“It’s me.”

“We just kissed.”

Quinn raises her eyebrows. “Are you freaking out?” she asks. “Please don’t freak out.”

Rachel shakes her head. “I’m not freaking out,” she says. “I’m gay.”

Quinn’s eyes widen at the admission.

“I’ve known for a while,” she continues, the two of them just standing there in some stranger’s office and having the most important conversation of their entire lives. “Before we even started talking. I had such a crush on you. God, I was pathetic, and I completely fangirled when you messaged me, and I’ve been terrified of scaring you away... by coming on too strong.”

Quinn’s head tilts to the side. “You had a crush on me?”

“For years, probably,” Rachel confesses, because it’s time. This is what they’re doing, and she’s laying it all on the line, now. “And, then, we started talking, and my crush turned into... something more.” She swallows, because this is where she’s not sure just how truthful she should be.

Saying ‘I love you’ when she wasn’t even sure Quinn would be open to anything with her just an hour ago just doesn’t seem like a good idea. Where do they even go from here?

Quinn licks her lips, realising it’s her turn. “Noah is the only one who knows,” she says, and her voice comes out shakier than she intends. Rachel Berry is standing right in front of her, and she can barely concentrate on anything else.

“I came out to my dads at Thanksgiving,” Rachel says. “It - it went as well as I expected it would.”

“I don’t think I could tell my parents,” Quinn whispers. “I - I don’t know what it’ll do to my food career, Rachel. I’m this person now. Children look up to me, and parents respect me, and I - I don’t know what happens if - if people find out. Would I still be a role model then?”

Rachel thinks she understands, and she remembers the way Quinn reacted when Robin Roberts alluded to just that during the interview. So, she does understand. She has the same worries, but maybe in a different way. Her audience will be different to Quinn’s current one.

Rachel also kind of wants to hear Quinn say it out loud.

“What if I have to hide my entire life?” Quinn asks, and she suddenly sounds distressed.

Rachel reaches out and places her palms on the sides of Quinn’s face, forcing her to look her in the eye. “Hey.”

Quinn’s jaw clenches.

“It won’t be your entire life,” she says. “It won’t. I promise.”

“Then, when? When is it okay? When does it become okay?” She shakes her head. “When I’m eighteen? When I’m old enough to live without any of my family? When I’m successful enough that my career won’t take a hit at the probable backlash of being a female, gay chef?”

And, okay, it’s a little comical the way Rachel feels some of the tension leave her body at the verbal confirmation. Just hearing the confession makes her smile.

“Are you actually smiling right now?” Quinn asks, looking bewildered.

“You are so beautiful,” Rachel whispers, and so delights in the fact Quinn blushes. “Everything is going to be okay.”

“You can’t know that,” Quinn argues.

Rachel sighs. “What do you want to have happen?” she asks. “What do you want, Quinn?” She bites her bottom lip, deciding to take the risk. Somebody has to, and Quinn has much more to lose than she does. “Because, God, if you want me, you can have me.”

Quinn blinks, and Rachel can see the way she seems to make a decision.

It’s a decision that will alter the rest of both their lives.

There’s a beat of absolute stillness, and then Quinn is moving. She dips her head and places the lightest of kisses on Rachel’s lips, lingering for a long moment. If that doesn’t answer Rachel’s question, she doesn’t know what will.

It’s when they have twelve minutes left that they finally sit down, Quinn dropping into one of the chairs opposite the desk, and Rachel settling herself in the blonde’s lap.

Rachel can’t stop touching her, her fingers trailing over the skin of Quinn’s cheeks, along her jaw and down the gorgeous column of her throat. Quinn’s eyes stay on her face the entire time, her gaze intense.

“Hi,” Rachel whispers.

“Hey,” Quinn whispers back.

“Are - are we really going to do this?”

Quinn audibly swallows. “I - I don’t know if I can give you everything you need,” she says carefully. “I don’t know how to give you all of me when I don’t even get to _be_ all of me.”

“Hey,” Rachel murmurs, fingers sliding through Quinn’s hair. “You get to be all of you when you’re with me, okay? That’s the beauty of this. I’m here, and you’re here, and I want to know you and be with you.”

“Because you have a crush on me,” Quinn attempts to tease.

Rachel is all seriousness when she says, “It’s more than that, and you know it.”

And, really, Rachel thinks Quinn actually does, because there’s a certain intensity behind hazel eyes that speaks of profound emotion and understanding.

So, it’s with nine minutes to go that Quinn asks, “We can do this, right?”

Rachel nods. “Of course, we can.”

“How would it work?”

“Exactly the way it has been,” she says; “just, without the uncertainty and with all of the embarrassing declarations.”

Quinn smiles, and then feels it fade. “Nobody can know, Rachel,” she whispers.

“I know,” she says. “Maybe, one day, I won’t be so okay with it, but I am now, Quinn.” She sighs. “It doesn’t make sense to turn both our lives upside down when we’re not even going to be in the same state. We can just keep doing what we’ve been doing, just with the knowledge that when I tell you I miss you and think you’re amazing and probably the prettiest girl I’ve ever met; you know I mean it in a way that’s less than friendly.”

“Because, you want to kiss me,” Quinn teases, allowing them a moment of respite from the heaviness of the last few moments.

“All the time.”

Quinn arches an eyebrow. “Well, then, what are you waiting for?”

 

* * *

 

It’s with three minutes to go that Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry officially enter a relationship, and Rachel feels unsteady as she gets to her feet.

With the very real fact that she’s just been kissing Quinn and that said girl is now her girlfriend; she thinks it’s going to be a miracle if she makes it home in one piece. Her mind is reeling, and her heart is pounding.

She hasn’t even had one of those jalapeño poppers yet.

Quinn also gets to her feet, carefully straightening out her clothing and running a hand through her loose hair. Her curls are slightly in disarray, but it’s a look that definitely works for her, Rachel thinks.

“When am I seeing you again?” Rachel asks, unable to stop herself.

“When you come to New York,” Quinn says. “For your Nationals.”

Rachel smiles softly. “You’re going to come see me.”

“Of course.”

“It’s practically two months away,” she points out, pouting slightly.

Quinn leans in, as if she wants to kiss the pout away, but there’s a sudden knock on the door, and it’s immediately opening.

Rachel has enough time to register relief that they’re no longer seated, but her mind screams that they still have two minutes left when she sees Quinn step back from her.

“Mom?” Quinn says. “Is it time to leave?”

“Almost,” Judy says, smiling at the girls. “Archer’s making a run to _Starbucks_ , and I wanted to see if either of you wanted anything.”

Quinn blinks. “We’re not yet leaving?”

“I think we can swing a few minutes,” Judy says, her eyes soft. “Caramel macchiato?”

“Please,” Quinn says, and then glances at Rachel. “Soy latte?”

Rachel nods, and then says, “Yes, please,” to Judy.

Judy’s smile actually grows. “I know I said it earlier, but it is so good to meet you,” she says, and then disappears from the room.

Rachel and Quinn exchange a look, and then burst into a fit of giggles. Still smiling, Rachel curls herself into Quinn’s body, because she knows they need to be comfortable with the physicality of their relationship before they proceed to spend the next almost two months without seeing each other.

For the most part, Rachel thinks she can handle it, but she wishes she didn’t have to. There’s very little they can actually plan for, given their ages and commitments, but at least she has an actual calendar date to look forward to.

The next minute is spent just staring at each other, and then the next is spent in the tightest hug imaginable. Rachel can feel all of Quinn, and she’s hit by the realisation that she doesn’t want this moment to end.

But, it does.

Six minutes later, Judy is back with a tray of drinks, and it’s time for them to leave. Quinn stands as close to Rachel as she can possibly get away with as they walk out, Judy casually saying, “You really must come and visit us in New York some time,” to Rachel, which may or not be said to be polite, but Quinn seems to perk up at the words.

Rachel takes note of it, and vows to ask her about it later.

Because, now, Quinn has to get in a car and disappear from her life once more, and Rachel has to force herself to let go when the two of them share one final - far too short - hug.

“I’ll talk to you soon, okay?” Quinn murmurs.

Rachel nods. “Travel safely,” she says, taking a step back from Quinn.

“I’m so glad I got to see you,” Quinn says, and her eyes are piercing. She leans in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And touch you, and kiss you, and tell you how - “

Rachel covers Quinn’s mouth with her hand. “Don’t you dare start what you can’t finish,” she warns, even though she’s smiling.

Quinn’s mouth curls into a smile behind her fingers, and this is everything.

_She_ is everything.

Which is suddenly a very sobering, enlightening thought as she watches Quinn drive away.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV**

 

It’s always going to be the smile that gives her away.

While Rachel was able to play down the events of her meeting with Quinn to her fathers, she can’t quite hide how her heart rate quickens or her face splits into a smile whenever Quinn reminds her that they’re actually together.

In truth, Rachel isn’t sure why she hasn’t divulged the true extent of her relationship with Quinn to her fathers, but she feels a bit safer this way. She doesn’t want them to have to worry unnecessarily.

She also doesn’t want them to tell her to be careful.

She has an idea what they’re up against, but the past two weeks have been completely and utterly blissful. She’s happy. So, so happy, and she doesn’t want to have anything put a dampener on that.

Which is really a thought that brings her the first of several hiccups.

“Is that Quinn?” Hiram asks.

Rachel snaps to attention. “What?”

Hiram smiles softly, recognising a deer-in-the-headlights look if ever he’s seen one. “You’re smiling at your phone,” he points out. “I’m assuming it’s Quinn.”

Rachel breathes out slowly, forcing herself to relax. She doesn’t want to be hiding from her fathers, so she says, “You’re right.”

He waits patiently.

“She’s telling me about her shift at the restaurant,” Rachel explains. “She’s been a commis chef ever since she started working there a few years ago.”

Hiram frowns, clearly not understanding.

“She’s essentially a junior member of staff that works under a chef de partie - basically, a station chef - in order to learn the ins and outs of that specific station. An apprentice, as it were. Last night, she was working on the fish station under the chef de partie, Shaun, when he cut himself pretty badly filleting a fish near the end of service, and, instead of calling in an older, more experienced chef, the Head Chef let Quinn finish off herself.” She’s aware her smile must be dopey, but she’s just so proud.

“That’s amazing.”

“It’s even better because all the food she produced was perfect,” Rachel says, and her voice is slightly higher. She’s actually really sad that she doesn’t get to give Quinn a hug and tell her how proud she is in person, but such is life.

She’ll call her later and tell her.

“This is real, isn’t it?” Hiram asks.

“What?”

“Her culinary career,” he says, brow furrowed at the way she looks slightly panicked. “She’s making a name for herself.”

Rachel knows, the more famous Quinn gets, the less likely she’ll be to come out. Rachel wasn’t kidding when she said she was fine with it, for now, but there will be a day when it won’t be okay, and she doesn’t know how far away that is.

“She is, yes,” Rachel says. “She’s a great chef, Dad, and she’s only going to get better.”

“Finding people who’ve identified their passions at such a young age is rare,” he says. “That’s something you share.”

Rachel thinks he’s fishing, and she willingly gives. “It is,” she agrees. “We share quite a few things, actually.”

“Oh?”

“We both love music,” she starts, but then cuts to the crux of it all. She’s discussed this with Quinn, and the blonde has given her permission to say, “We’re also both gay.”

Hiram sucks in a breath.

“We’re... dating,” she confesses quietly. “Well, as dating as two people who’ve been in each other’s presence for only an hour can actually date.”

Hiram is obviously caught off guard. “You... and... Quinn are together?”

Rachel nods. “Yes.”

Eventually, he recovers enough to smile. “It was the eyes, wasn’t it?”

“It was everything,” she whispers in wonder.

Hiram has never seen that look on her face before, and he’s suddenly very happy Quinn exists, even if this entire situation fills him with an odd sense of dread and anxiety.

It could be spectacularly awful if they’re found out before they’re ready.

“She makes you happy,” Hiram states, because it’s not a question.

“She does,” Rachel answers anyway, because Quinn really does.

* * *

The next thing that creates a little problem for Rachel is that she begins to befriend Kurt. She doesn’t really know how it happens, but it does. It might be when he asks her another question about fashion - that she only knows because of Quinn - and things kind of blossom from there.

Kurt seems to have begrudgingly accepted that she’s not all terrible, which can _also_ be attributed to Quinn.

So, with this new friendship comes a level of anxiety that she can’t quite handle, because she’s in a secret relationship that was easier to get away with when she didn’t have this actual physical companion.

She thinks it would probably be easy to tell him she’s actually seeing someone, but the words just won’t leave her mouth. She can sense that he suspects something is responsible for her… change, but he hasn’t asked, and she appreciates him for it.

Instead, he tells her about his own crush while the two of them get coffee at the Lima Bean, and she marvels at the fact that she seems to have made an actual second friend.

Sometimes, she mourns the end of her _friendship_ with Finn. Not the relationship, but just knowing he was _there_ was a sort of comfort. Even if he could be a little awful at it. Becoming friends with Quinn has really taught her the true meaning of friendship, and they aren’t even in the same place. If that isn’t something to write home about, she doesn’t know what is.

“His name is Blaine,” Kurt is saying. “I met him when I went to visit Dalton Academy.”

Rachel’s brow furrows. “The all boys’ school? The one with the blazers?”

Kurt lets out a small laugh. “That’s the one,” he confirms. “I - I just wanted to see if places existed where… I could be fully accepted. Where I wouldn’t be bullied.”

Rachel can’t help thinking about Quinn, and how she sought out such a place for high school in New York for the same thing. She claims no such places actually exist. People just get better at hiding it. “Were you considering going there?”

Kurt nods, looking slightly guilty. “After everything with Karofsky, it just seemed the safest thing to do, and Carole and my dad even offered to pay the higher fees.”

“Why didn’t you go, then?” she asks, because she’s really curious.

He drops his gaze, ducking his head slightly. “Don’t laugh.”

“I won’t,” she immediately says, and her tone sounds more serious than she initially intends.

He glances at her. “It was probably Quinn,” he finally confesses.

Rachel blinks. “Quinn Fabray?”

Kurt nods. “It was around the time her video came out about the anti-bullying campaign she joined,” he goes on to explain. “I remember her saying something about wishing, sometimes, she were brave enough to stand up to the bullies. She wished she’d had more courage to _stay_ , instead of running away.”

Rachel recalls that part. “But, she also said that she’s finally accepted that leaving the situation and finding herself a safer, happier place doesn’t make her weak.” She blinks. “Quinn’s a bit of a contradiction, isn’t she?” Her smile is soft, just thinking about the girl.

“I don’t know, but something really resonated with me,” Kurt says, smiling at himself. “As strong as I’ve had to be to withstand all the violence and the threats, I just… couldn’t let him win. Does that make sense?”

Rachel nods. “It’s the same reason I make sure not to cry in front of them when the slushy gets in my eyes,” she says. “I don’t want to give them the satisfaction.”

Kurt tilts his head to the side. “We’re _definitely_ going to need therapy,” he says.

Rachel traps her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. She’s already been in therapy for years. “So, uh, tell me more about this Blaine.”

His face lights up, and he leans forward. “He’s wonderful, Rachel,” he says. “And he sings.”

“He’s a Warbler?”

“The lead.”

Rachel thinks back to their Regionals’ competition, hearing the voice and recalling a face. “Oh, he _is_ cute,” she finally says.

Kurt laughs lightly. “Hey, get your own,” he jokes.

Rachel audibly swallows. “What - what if I already have?” she ventures.

Kurt raises his eyebrows. “A crush?”

“A little more than that.”

“Do I know him?”

Rachel winces. “Not exactly,” she finally says. “We don’t go to school together.” She shakes her head. “We don’t even live in the same state.”

Kurt looks like he has tons of questions, but he doesn’t know where to start. “Is that why you’re no longer interested in Finn?”

“It’s one of the reasons,” Rachel confesses. “I just - after everything that happened between us, I just couldn’t see myself being with him again, you know? How am I supposed to get over the fact that my once boyfriend openly laughed at…” she trails off, trying not to picture Finn standing in the corridors with everyone else and laughing as she dripped with syrup. How he’s never stood up for her against any of them; how he’s never said anything to Santana about the Latina’s treatment of her. “As if he enjoyed it.”

Kurt, for the most part, has his own issues regarding Finn, given the boy’s initial reluctance to stand up for him against Karofsky. What Kurt has come to realise is that Finn is still a child. He has a lot of growing up to do, and Rachel has far surpassed them all, he supposes. Finn is too concerned with appearances and popularity, and Kurt thinks he and Rachel are probably the only two people who don’t care at all.

She wears Argyle, and he wears sequins.

“So, do I get to hear about this mystery boy?” Kurt asks.

Rachel almost bursts out laughing. “I _do_ want to tell you,” she says. “Just, not yet.”

And, Kurt understands, sort of. “Okay.”

She smiles, hesitant and relieved. “Thank you.”

* * *

What is a problem, and also not, at all, is Quinn’s sudden desire to see her face.

It takes them until the third weekend after becoming _official_ for them both to have sufficient time and privacy for an actual _Skype_ date.

Rachel is filled will all kinds of butterflies as she sits at her desk and waits patiently for Quinn to come online. It amazes her that this is the first time they’re doing this, but she loves the fact that they’re still having all these firsts, almost six hundred miles apart.

Her heart almost beats out of her chest when Quinn calls her, her gorgeous blonde face popping up when Rachel finally wills herself to Accept.

“Hey,” Quinn breathes, and then proceeds to stare at her for almost two full minutes.

Rachel thinks she might cry.

“I almost always seem to forget how beautiful you are,” Quinn says.

Rachel leans forward, almost wanting to get closer to her. Quinn looks relaxed, all casual, as she lies on her bed, her back propped up against her pillows, and her laptop resting on her thighs. Her hair is loose, slightly mussed, and she’s wearing her glasses.

Rachel has seen her wear them a total of once, and it was in a picture that Quinn once sent, and then regretted immediately, because she forgot she was wearing them.

It’s Rachel’s favourite picture.

She even did the thing and had it printed, so it’s currently up on her pin board. Along with two others of solely Quinn, and then she also has the only picture in existence of the two of them. Rachel insisted on it, near the end of their thirty-seven - plus an additional four - minutes together.

They’re posing beside each other, and Quinn’s smile is almost one of relief and wonder and a certain happiness that Rachel’s never seen before. Her own smile is similar, if not wider.

The picture is framed and situated on her nightstand.

She had to put them all away the first time Kurt came to visit, and the second and third and every time after that, but now they’re back in position, and Quinn’s gaze settles on the one on her nightstand when her eyes eventually drift from Rachel’s face.

“Is that... me?” Quinn asks, her smile slightly teasing.

Rachel blushes as she nods. “I just wanted you close.”

Quinn’s features soften, and she turns her laptop slightly to reveal her own nightstand. When the camera refocuses, Rachel sees a similar framed picture, and her face splits into the widest smile. “You’re not the only one,” Quinn says as she turns the laptop back towards her.

Rachel shifts in her seat. “How are you?” she asks, as if they haven’t been in constant contact all weekend.

“So much better, now,” Quinn says. “I actually just finished my essay on the theme of mental health in _Hamlet_ for English, which was quite a cathartic process.”

Rachel isn’t sure what to say to that. “Do I get to read it?”

“If you’d like to,” Quinn offers. “I’ll send it to you.”

“Thank you.”

Quinn’s eyes drift again, and she smiles. “This is actually the first time I get to see your entire bedroom,” she says. “Show me around. I want to see where my girlfriend sleeps.”

Rachel laughs softly, as she does just that, getting up from her seat and walking around the room with her laptop held in front of her. “This is where I stand for my videos,” she explains. “My closet, my laundry hamper, my elliptical.” She turns. “My desk, where I’ve shed many tears over Calculus. Of course, my bed.” She pauses, almost steeling herself. “Where I’ve spent many a night thinking about you.”

Quinn gasps softly.

Rachel smiles to herself, moving on. “That’s my window, with a sill big enough to sit on. I spend some time there, just to think. Maybe read, and journal.” She turns. “That’s my bathroom, which is convenient, but I doubt you want to see that. Uh, I think that’s about it. There’s really not much else. Oh, my bookshelf. Yip, okay, that’s it.”

When the short tour is over, she returns to her seat, sets her laptop back on the desk, and is confronted with the look on Quinn’s face. Her eyes are darker than Rachel has ever seen, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Quinn?” Rachel asks, slightly hesitant.

She sighs. “I really, really miss you,” she says. “I wish you were here with me.”

Rachel sighs dreamily. “I’m glad you recognise it would be better for us where you are,” she says.

“We could just blend into obscurity here,” Quinn whispers. “We could just _be_.”

Rachel desperately wants to touch her. She wants to hold her, kiss her, breathe her in. With a sigh, she glances at the calendar on her wall and winces. Still almost five weeks to go until they see each other again.

“I don’t think this was a good idea,” Quinn finally says, and Rachel’s eyes widen. “ _Skype_ ,” Quinn clarifies before Rachel can begin to panic that she regrets the relationship. “ _Skype_. It’s just making it harder, because now you’re right in front of me and I just - I’ve been able to keep a handle on it for so long, but now there’s this deep, heavy longing in my chest, and it sucks.”

Rachel can’t handle hearing Quinn say it, and she’s pretty certain Quinn is right. It’s just going to make things harder. “Do you not want to _Skype_?” she genuinely asks.

“I think that would be worse,” Quinn says.

Rachel sighs. “It does suck, doesn’t it?”

“You’ve opened a can of worms here, Rachel Berry,” Quinn says, forcing a smile. “I even have a countdown going, you know?”

Rachel lets out an unexpected laugh, and then shakes her head. “I do, too,” she admits. “I’m even doing that thing where I cross the days off in red Sharpie.”

“Mine is electronic,” Quinn says. “Damn, does that make it less authentic?”

“I think you’re okay.”

“Yeah?”

She smiles. “Yeah.”

* * *

It starts something.

As hard as it is, it’s harder _not_ to see her. They find time to talk to each other during the week, and Quinn accepts that she’ll just have to risk having such private conversations with her parents around.

It’s the oddest feeling, though. The more time that passes, Rachel finds herself falling deeper and deeper in love, which just makes the separation even more difficult to deal with.

They were fine, she thinks, before they met, but it’s different now. There’s a certain heaviness that’s settled into their relationship, laced with _I miss you_ and _I wish you were here with me_.

It’s lovely, but also not, and she’s unsure how to make sense of that.

Still, she doubts she would change anything. She’s in love, and, as difficult as it’s probably going to be, now and in the future, she’s exactly where she wants to be.

* * *

Another speed bump on Rachel’s way to New York is the return of Jesse St James, which really initiates a series of events that end with quite a few people in tears.

Including Quinn.

Granted, that isn’t entirely her fault, but she is the one who prompts it.

Jesse’s arrival sparks something in Finn, it seems, and, while Kurt tries to get his stepbrother to tone down his open staring and persistent attempts to talk to Rachel, it all kind of falls to pieces.

Then, Jesse asks Rachel to Prom, and she discusses it with Quinn and ends up saying yes, because Kurt is actually going with Blaine, which is amazing, and Rachel really doesn’t want to go alone. Rachel’s made herself perfectly clear to Jesse that they’re just friends, and the boy seems to accept it - she thinks he also has a little too much fun antagonising Finn.

Finn, however, doesn’t accept anything, and there are fists thrown, and Rachel’s pretty sure both boys cry. Then there’s Santana, who’s convinced it’s all Rachel’s fault, which is why there’s a slap, and then both girls cry.

And, then, Quinn cries when Rachel tells her all of it.

But, what really encapsulates the entire mess of a few weeks is when Coach Sue Sylvester cries.

Granted, it’s at her sister’s funeral, but it just seems as if everything has been so hard for all of them for such a long time. It might also have something to do with the fact the Cheerios didn’t win Nationals, losing somewhat spectacularly to, well, Quinn, and her team of Crusaders.

Speaking of.

They also don’t have any songs for their own upcoming show choir Nationals.

Then, on top of all of that, Finn breaks up with Santana after said funeral, with the intention of getting back together with Rachel, apparently, and Santana is once again blaming Rachel for it.

This time, though, there are no tears.

“He believes he’s tethered to you,” Santana says, cornering her in the Choir Room after Glee has let out and everyone has left save for Rachel, who’s determined to write more songs, because this is actually ridiculous now.

Rachel blinks, tensing slightly as she remains seated at the piano. “What?”

“Hudson,” Santana says, stepping closer. “He believes you two are destined for each other.”

Rachel sighs. “Well, he’s the only one who believes that, then.”

“Really?”

Rachel glances at her. “I don’t know what I’ve done in the last six or so months to convince you or him that I’m actually still interested in him,” she says. “Seriously. You can stop blaming me. I don’t want Finn. I’m _never_ going to want Finn. And, frankly, I don’t even get why you’re so hell bent on all of this drama when you obviously don’t love him.”

Santana clenches her jaw. “You don’t know how I feel.”

“And, _you_ don’t know how _I_ feel, so why don’t you just leave me alone? It’s not my fault Finn can’t seem to understand what my lack of interest means.”

“He honestly thinks you took a step back because he was dating me, and now that he’s not; it’s all going to work out.”

Rachel rolls her eyes. “Boys are so stupid.”

“They really are,” Santana automatically agrees, and then panics slightly, as if she thinks she’s revealed too much.

Rachel sees it, but doesn’t comment. If the girl feels even half of what she feels for Quinn for Brittany, then Rachel understands.

She really, really understands.

Maybe Santana can sense some truth in her, because she just nods, takes a step back, and then turns and leaves.

These have been some of the strangest weeks of Rachel’s life, but she’s accepted that she’s had to get through them... to get to New York, to get to see Quinn. It’s really not long to go, now, and she can feel the excitement blooming in her chest.

Quinn, unfortunately, isn’t going to be in New York when Rachel lands, given that she’s still going to be in Austin, Texas for her Culinary Club Nationals, which is inconvenient, but it isn’t as if they would have been able to see each other the first day, anyway.

But, Quinn has it all planned.

Everything.

The problem, though, is that Quinn is telling her nothing about said plans. All Rachel knows is she’s going to be seeing Quinn at some point while she’s in New York, and that’s that, apparently.

It’s exciting and terrifying, and she’s almost vibrating with nerves at the fact that she’ll probably be able to hold Quinn’s hand in just a few days.

The unknown of it all is also a little irritating, because she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to pack. What kind of outfits is she going to need, for whatever activities Quinn may or may not have planned?

Which is why she calls Kurt in a slight panic the night before they’re scheduled to leave for New York.

And, it’s this panic that leaves her completely unprepared for the moment Kurt actually arrives, looking slightly bemused before looking utterly confused and asking, “Rachel, why is there a picture of you and Quinn Fabray on your nightstand?”

Rachel freezes where she’s standing in the open doorway to her closet. Slowly, she turns to face him, watching as he lifts the framed picture to get a closer look. Her heart is pounding, and she doesn’t know if she’ll realistically be able to lie to him. She doesn’t even know if she wants to, anymore.

They’ve confided in each other about their dreams and their loves, and she thinks they’ve reached a point in their friendship where he could potentially understand. The problem is that it’s _Quinn_ , and she doesn’t know how he’ll react to that. He’s obviously a fan, and she doesn’t know how he’s going to respond to this truth.

“Where was this taken?” Kurt asks when she hasn’t spoken.

She audibly swallows. “In Columbus,” she answers, her voice trembling slightly.

“When?”

“Over Spring Break.”

He glances at her. “You know Quinn Fabray?”

Rachel licks her lips, because that’s a bit of an understatement at this point. She’s had intimate contact with the girl’s mouth. “Yes,” she finally says. “We know each other.”

Kurt sets the frame back on the nightstand. “You have a framed picture with her on your nightstand,” he says, his brow slightly furrowed, as his mind tries to wrap around what that could possibly mean. If he takes into account everything he currently knows about this new Rachel, then there’s a certain way his mind wants to go, but -

“Do you - are you - “ he starts and stops, clearly unsure how to phrase whatever he wants to ask.

“Yes,” is all she says, understanding anyway.

Kurt breathes out slowly. “Well,” he says. “Okay.”

Rachel still stands rigid.

“Is - is she the crush you’ve been telling me about?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer. They don’t go to school together, they don’t live in the same state, and Rachel has been very careful to avoid pronouns.

“I’m in love with her,” Rachel says, and she feels guilty that she’s already revealed the depth of her feelings to three people and none of them has been Quinn. Still, it feels like a weight off her shoulders to be able to say it out loud to someone who isn’t one of her fathers.

Kurt looks stumped, and she allows a ghost of a smile to cross her lips.

“Are you okay?” Rachel asks.

“Just processing,” he says. “Logically, I know I’m not the only, uh, queer teenager around, but it’s always a bubble of relief and fear when I find another one. This - this isn’t easy, especially here.”

“No, it’s not,” she confirms.

“Do your fathers know?”

“Yes,” she answers. “They’ve known since Thanksgiving.”

“Does Quinn know?”

Rachel lets out an unexpected laugh. She thinks Quinn will forgive her for this, because the blonde has been quite supportive of her new friendship with Kurt, encouraging her to hang out with him as often as possible. Rachel thinks she might have been a little too selfish if it were the other way around.

Granted, it probably helps that she and Kurt are both gay.

“She does,” Rachel says. “I confirmed it for her after the first time we kissed.”

His jaw drops, and she really struggles to hold back her laughter. It’s not a look she’s ever seen on his face, and she makes a quiet vow to find more things to surprise him with.

Rachel waits patiently.

“I have to sit,” he says, dropping onto the edge of her bed. It takes him a moment, but then he pats the bed beside him and says, “Tell me everything.”

Rachel can’t help her hesitation.

Kurt offers an understanding smile. “I promise I’ll never tell anyone,” he assures her. Then: “wait, are you going to be seeing her in New York?”

Rachel nods.

“ _Girl_ ,” he says, eyes wide as he stares into her open suitcase. “Thank God you called me.”

* * *

It’s after Kurt has left and she’s staring into her packed suitcase that she starts to feel deeply unsettled. Quinn has been a little AWOL while she’s been cooking up a storm in Austin, and Rachel wants nothing more than to talk to her.

Maybe a text will do.

**Rachel Berry** : _I know I complain about this enough, but I really wish you would tell me what we’re going to be doing in NYC. You know I don’t like not knowing these things. Surprises cause me anxiety, and I’m already anxious enough about seeing you_.

She doesn’t expect to get a response, given that Quinn should definitely be asleep before the Culinary Team performs through the final round of Nationals the next day. Quinn is obviously one of their better chefs, so she’s going to have quite a role to play in ensuring their victory.

So, when her phone buzzes, it’s a pleasant surprise.

**Quinn Fabray** : _Your trying to guilt me into telling isn’t going to work. You already know that_.

Rachel lets out a sigh, feeling a certain tension bleed out of her body at merely being able to talk to her.

**Rachel Berry** : _Why aren’t YOU sleeping_?

**Quinn Fabray** : _Jen wants us to read over recipes in preparation for tomorrow, so we’re all huddled in our room going through cookbooks like crazy people_.

**Quinn Fabray** : _Oh no. I just got the stink eye for being on my phone. Apparently, it's unbecoming of a co-captain. Gosh. Jen’s really cracking the whip tonight_.

**Rachel Berry** : _She wants to win. Can you blame her?_

**Quinn Fabray** : _But I’m tired. We’ll be useless tomorrow if Kyle and Duncan don’t get sleep. They barely function as it is_.

Rachel can’t help her laugh as she moves to settle on her bed, suddenly feeling exhausted after this long day.

**Quinn Fabray** : _But, more importantly, why are you still awake? Too excited about tomorrow?_

**Rachel Berry** : _I just finished packing. Kurt was here helping me pick out clothes, and we lost track of time talking_.

Rachel hesitates, unsure if adding this kind of stress to Quinn’s life is what she needs before one of the bigger competitions of her year.

**Rachel Berry** : _He kind of found the picture of us on my nightstand, and now he knows about us. He’s sworn to secrecy, of course, but he knows now. Please don’t be mad_.

She waits, barely breathing for three long minutes.

**Quinn Fabray** : _I’m not mad, Sweets. I figured you would tell him eventually, and I trust your judgment. Do you feel better_?

**Rachel Berry** : _Are you sure? It’s okay if you are mad, you know. And, yes, I do feel much better. Lighter, somehow. It felt good to gush about you to someone who seems to understand teenage love_.

Her heart leaps into her throat the second she rereads what she’s just said. The word ‘love’ is slightly different now that they’re actually dating. She wonders if Quinn will actually comment on it or not, and she can’t decide which way she wants it to go.

**Quinn Fabray** : _Jeez, Berry, I get it. I’m the light of your life. You totally love me, and you want to have my babies. I already told you I would keep your secret_.

Rachel’s jaw drops at the sight of the words, and then her entire body is set alight by Quinn’s next text.

**Quinn Fabray** : _I love you too, by the way. So, so much. Xx_

* * *

“Look.”

Rachel glances up from her songwriting notebook to see Kurt holding his phone out for her. They’re in the Columbus airport, waiting to board the plane for a competition for which they’re nowhere near ready.

“They won,” Kurt says, showing her the screen of his phone.

Rachel frowns slightly, and then looks down at where he’s got _Instagram_ open to Quinn’s most recent post. It’s a group shot of the Culinary Club, The Soup-A-Stars, all of them posing in their white chef jackets with what must be the first place trophy. A smile immediately spreads across her face, and she can’t help the pride that blooms in her chest.

“They won,” she repeats, fishing for her own phone in her carry-on, and unsurprised to find a flurry of texts from the one only Quinn Fabray.

Kurt glances over her shoulder, and she finds she’s less irritated than she thought she would be. It feels good to share this with someone.

**Quinn Fabray** : _Okay, we’re fifteen minutes away from going on and Jen is freaking out. Kyle is missing, and he’s on appetisers with Reuben. It’s a disaster_.

**Quinn Fabray** : _Crisis averted. Kyle has been located and thoroughly lectured. We’re going on now. Wish us luck_!

**Quinn Fabray** : _I love you. Just wanted you to know :*_

**Quinn Fabray** : _Damn. I’m exhausted. That was intense. The judges are currently tasting our food, and we’ll find out only after all the finalists have cooked if we’ve won. I have a good feeling about it. My mom has been filming all sorts of things, so I’ll send you some footage later. Until then, here’s a picture of our final dishes. For our entrées, we had to create three dishes using the protein duck, which managed to trip up quite a few of the other teams. (Good thing I'm pretty much a French cuisine specialist, huh? Duck l’Orange is practically a staple.)_

**Quinn Fabray** : * _Image_ *

**Quinn Fabray** : _Rachel. Rachel. Rachel. Holy shit. We won! We won! I can’t believe it_!

**Quinn Fabray** : _Okay, I kind of can, because we’re totally awesome, but this is amazing. We’re the best team in the country and, ohmygod, WE WON!_

**Quinn Fabray** : * _Image_ *

**Quinn Fabray** : _That’s us, with the trophy. How huge is it? It’s probably taller than you are ;)_

**Quinn Fabray** : _Jeez. You’d think I’ve never won a Nationals Title before with the way I’m acting. Hah._

**Quinn Fabray** : _I think this one means more to me than the cheerleading one, definitely. Cooking is my life, and getting this kind of validation means more than I can probably explain. Still, I think you understand_.

**Quinn Fabray** : _We won, Rachel, but it still pales in comparison to how it felt when you said yes to me._

**Quinn Fabray** : _Okay, I have to get ready for the Winners’ dinner now. Have a safe flight, okay, and I can’t wait to see you. Not long to go now, Broadway_.

**Quinn Fabray** : _I love you_.

If Rachel were anywhere else, she would probably be in tears, but her subconscious is aware she’s in public. She does press a hand to her heart, feeling it race under her palm.

“Wow,” Kurt murmurs.

Rachel glances at him. “I don’t - “ she starts, and then stops. “She’s - “

“Wow,” he finishes for her.

Rachel blushes. “I really don’t even know where to start with replying,” she says, looking down at her phone again, and then flinching when their flight is announced for boarding.

“I don’t think you have time,” Kurt says as he bends to retrieve his own carry-on.

Rachel sighs, and then proceeds to type a quick message.

**Rachel Berry** : _And you don’t consider yourself a rockstar, imagine. I’m so proud of you, Quinn. Be happy. Go crazy. Enjoy every second of it. I want to talk to you some more, but we’re about to board, so I’ll text when we’re in New York. Have a great evening. I love you, too. Xx_

Rachel thinks it’ll have to do for now as she slowly gets to her feet when Mr Schuester calls out for her. She eyes him carefully, trying to figure out what it is about him that seems so... off, but she can’t put her finger on it.

She falters when her phone buzzes, and she looks down to see an image sent from Quinn of the girl wearing a red cocktail dress and looking decidedly delicious. Her makeup is flawless, her hair elegantly pinned up and this tiny smile on her face.

Rachel actually gasps at the sight, her heart rate rising immediately at the sight of her super talented, gorgeous girlfriend... whom she’s going to be seeing in the next few days.

The caption really doesn’t help, either, and Rachel’s jaw drops, just as Mr Schuester calls for her again.

_I’m contemplating whether letting you know if I’m wearing underwear or not will make your flight better or worse_.

Heaven help her.

**Rachel Berry** : _Worse. Definitely, worse. What is wrong with you_?

And, she swears she can hear Quinn’s manic laughter all the way from Texas.

* * *

Rachel’s second visit to New York is far more stressful than the first one, obviously. After spending Thursday morning in Times Square, they return to their hotel rooms with the intention of finally getting out some songs to perform.

The fact that Mr Schuester leaves them alone to do just that doesn’t sit well with her at all, and she and Kurt exchange a very significant look. He gets to his feet and crosses the room to sit beside her.

“Got anything?” he asks, glancing at her open notebook.

She sighs. “Sort of,” she confesses. “You didn’t know it at the time, but Quinn inspired both _Get It Right_ and _Loser Like Me._ ”

He raises his eyebrows. “Is that your way of saying that you’ll only be able to write a hit once you see her?”

She lets out a soft laugh, absently shaking her head. “I’m kind of hoping that happens today,” she says.

“Where is she?”

“At school.”

Kurt laughs. “That’s hilarious,” he says. “She’s like this celebrity chef, and she has to go to school. She must hate that.”

“I think she’s more irked by it because she’s exhausted,” she muses, glancing down again. “But, yeah, I’m hoping I’ll get to see her.”

“She’s still not telling you what she has planned?”

“Nothing,” she grumbles, puffing out an exasperated breath.

“Exactly,” Santana suddenly says, loudly. “We have _nothing_ , and there’s no way we’re going to find the inspiration for any song just sitting in this ugly ass room.” The Latina glances at Rachel, almost challenging her to say something to contradict her.

Rachel says nothing. She’s well aware of the truth of that, so she’s not going to argue.

Santana seems momentarily surprised, and Rachel just smiles back at her.

“Did you have some place in mind?” Rachel asks.

Which is how she finds herself in Central Park just a half-hour later, all of them letting loose in some of the best ways. The air smells different here, and her heart seems to be beating at a different rhythm.

She’s in Quinn’s city.

She and Quinn are breathing the same air, and she’s giddy at the sheer thought of it. Just the idea of that is some kind of inspiration, and she actually finds herself skipping along beside Brittany as they head towards the ducks.

She’s aware of Kurt laughing behind them, and she can feel Finn’s eyes on her. She absently wonders if Brittany can feel Santana’s stare. It seems like the kind that could burn a person if you’re not careful.

She doesn’t think she’s actually stopped smiling once since they landed in New York. It’s Quinn, sure, but it’s also the city. This is where she belongs. She can feel it.

Kurt suddenly arrives at her side and slips an arm through hers. “Anything?”

She laughs softly. “You do know it doesn’t work like that, right?”

“It kind of does,” he says. “I’m sure Ryan Tedder or Taylor Swift would have a few songs already. Come on... not even a melody?”

“Piling on the pressure isn’t going to help,” she says, sighing.

He watches her face carefully. “Anything from Blondie?”

She shakes her head, resisting the urge to pout. “She’s supposed to be done with cheerleading for the year, so I have no idea where she is right now.”

“I’m sure she’ll text you,” he says. “If I were her, I would be burning with the desire to see you as soon as possible, so I wouldn’t worry.”

Rachel smiles softly. “It’s as if my entire body is tingling just thinking about it,” she confesses softly.

“This is so exciting,” Kurt says, jumping slightly. “Do you think it’s going to be some covert mission? She seems like a romantic.”

“She does, doesn’t she?”

Kurt squeezes her arm, and they fall to silence, the two of them just watching the ducks.

Then, he asks, “Anything?” and she proceeds to chase him around the large pond for his troubles.

* * *

It’s later, when the girls in the hotel room are having a pillow fight, that Rachel receives a very important text.

**Quinn Fabray** : _Broadway. Be downstairs in the lobby at seven o’clock. Wear something nice. (Text a smiley face to show you’ve received this message, and I love you.) X_

Rachel feels her heart leap into her throat, and her fingers are quick to type her reply.

**Rachel Berry** : _:) (I love you, too.)_

Then, she panics.

She turns her eyes on Kurt, and he seems to feel her gaze on him because he looks at her immediately. Something in her eyes - the sheer panic, maybe - must hit him, because he gets to his feet immediately, and it’s as if he just knows.

It helps that they’ve already planned for this, so it takes only forty minutes to get her ready. She decides on a deep blue dress and white shawl that Kurt claims pair well together. The heels are surprisingly comfortable, but that’s where her comfort ends.

She’s beyond nervous. This could end up being their actual first date, and she’s a little scared she’s going to end up disappointing Quinn in some way.

Still, with five minutes to spare, she’s able to slip out of the room without any of the other girls noticing, her heart pounding and her hands shaking. Kurt wishes her luck and sends her on her way.

She rides the elevator, wondering exactly what she’s going to see when she steps into the lobby. She can’t help wondering if Quinn is actually here, and that sends her breathing into disarray.

What if she gives them away the second she lays eyes on the blonde? What if she hyperventilates or does something equally ridiculous?

The worry slips from her mind the second the doors open and she steps out to see nobody blonde. She breathes out in slight relief, and then jumps in place when a strong voice says, “Broadway.”

Rachel turns her head immediately and comes face-to-face with none other than Noah Puckerman. She smiles automatically, though it’s a bit dim, because he isn't Quinn. He’s dressed in dark jeans and a crisp white shirt, his tie in place but decidedly loose. He’s a lot more handsome than she anticipated, and she wonders if Quinn really would have ended up dating him if she were straight.

“Hi,” she says, waving awkwardly.

“You look great,” he says. “Quinn told me to say that, but I would have said it anyway. You’re smoking hot.” He winces. “Though, maybe don’t tell Quinn I said that last part.”

She steps forward. “Where is Quinn?”

His grin splits his face. “I am supposed to escort you to her,” he says. “And, I have to give this - “ he halts when a voice interrupts their conversation.

“Rach, there you are.”

Rachel tenses immediately, and she wants nothing more than for this moment not to be happening. She offers Noah an apologetic smile, and then turns towards the owner of the voice, her eyes widening at the sight of Finn in a black suit.

“Finn,” she says. “What are you doing here?”

The boy frowns. “What do you mean what am I doing here?” he asks. “We’re going to dinner.”

“What?”

“You are down here to meet me, right?”

Rachel looks perplexed. “No, I’m not,” she says. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you get my text?”

“No,” she says, taking out her phone, her brow still furrowed. It’s then that she sees Finn’s text, sent only twenty minutes ago, telling her something similar to Quinn’s. She almost bursts out laughing, because, seriously, how is this her life? “I’m sorry, Finn,” she says; “but I didn’t see your text until right now. I’m not here for you.”

“But you’re here,” he observes, looking confused. “Why are you here?”

Rachel really isn’t sure how to respond to that, and she shifts awkwardly.

Finn seems to notice Noah then, and his frown deepens. “Who are you?”

Rachel really doesn’t need this happening right now, because Quinn is waiting for her, and Finn is wasting her time.

With a look of determination, Rachel steps between the two boys. “He’s a guitarist,” she says. “He’s helping me with a song, and you’re really cutting into our time. So, if you’ll excuse us, we have somewhere to be.” She’s sure she hears Noah snort behind her, and she rolls her eyes at him.

“Wait,” Finn says. “You’re not coming with me?”

“Uh, no,” she says. “I thought I made that clear.”

“But - but I made reservations and everything,” he says. “It was supposed to be romantic and - and - are you seriously saying no?”

Rachel bristles, and she steps back to keep herself calm. “I’m saying no,” she confirms, and then turns back to Noah. “Shall we?”

“Please,” he says. “My phone is five seconds away from exploding in my pocket. She’s been a nervous wreck all day.”

Rachel can’t help her smile.

Noah offers his arm, and she easily takes it, ignoring the impatient huff from behind her.

Well.

Rachel isn’t going to worry about Finn tonight. Quinn is her number one priority, and she’s actually just glad that Quinn isn’t the one Finn saw, because she can’t be sure if the boy would recognise her or not. That’s not something she would enjoy having to explain.

“Where are we going?” Rachel asks once they’re on their way, heading down the street. She loves the lights of the city, and the night is so much different to the day.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, but you’re welcome to try to guess.”

“I’m assuming we’re having dinner?”

Noah just hums.

She eyes his face. “Do you play Poker?”

He looks surprised by the question. “Not really,” he says. “I’m more of a Roulette man myself.”

Rachel can’t help her smile. “So, we’re going to dinner,” she says. “Where?”

Noah says nothing.

Rachel thinks she knows exactly where they’re going, but she’s not going to say it out loud, in case she’s wrong. She really just wants to lay eyes on Quinn, and she really doesn’t care where it is or even how it happens. Just, that it does.

They get to Le Rendezvous sooner than she expects, and her heartbeat skyrockets at the thought that Quinn is behind those doors.

“Oh, before I forget,” Noah says, digging in his back pocket. “I was supposed to give you this.” He pulls out a crumpled flower, and winces at the sight of it in his palm. “Uh...”

Rachel giggles, and gingerly takes the white flower from him, doing her best to straighten it out. “Do you know what it is?” she asks. “Well, what it _was_?”

“I think she said it’s a gardenia,” he answers with a shrug. “Whatever that means.”

Rachel just smiles, holding the flower very carefully. “Thank you for the escort,” she says.

“Anything for Quinn’s girl.”

Rachel beams at the sound of that. “So, what happens now?”

“Well, you go in there and tell them you’re Rachel Berry, and that’s it.”

Rachel swallows. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he confirms. “It’s all taken care of. Just enjoy your night, okay? She’s a little anxious, so she might be awkward at first, but she’ll grow into the evening.” His gaze softens. “You make her really happy,” he says. “It’s not really something either of us is used to, but you make her so happy that it almost lights up her entire world.” He shakes his head at himself, “I guess I’m just trying to say thank you.”

Rachel blushes. “Well, she makes me happy, too.”

“That’s good to know,” he says, and then takes a step back. “You better head inside. She’s probably freaking out as we speak.”

Rachel’s freaking out too, and it really doesn’t help that the maître de seems to recognise her before she even has to provide her name. Then, she’s being led through the restaurant, past curious eyes, and right towards the back.

Right into the kitchen.

Her eyes are wide as she steps under the bright lights, and her heart is probably bruising the interior of her ribcage at this point. She’s taken through the rushing waiting staff, around a corner and brought to a stop at a little booth and table: the chef’s table. It’s set for two, and there’s a vase of gardenias in its centre.

She’s too busy studying the table to notice that the maître de has disappeared, and the presence behind her belongs to a truly significant blonde instead.

She jumps in place when a silky voice says, “God, I almost forgot how beautiful you are.”

Rachel spins around quickly, almost giving herself whiplash, and then Quinn is right there, and she’s stunning. Rachel’s eyes are wide as she takes in the sight before her. Quinn Fabray is standing entirely too close to her, smiling softly, and blinking repeatedly.

Rachel can’t stop from launching herself at Quinn, wrapping her arms around the girl’s neck and holding on for dear life. She inhales deeply, Quinn’s scent overpowering all the other pleasant smells of the kitchen.

“It’s you,” Rachel whispers.

“It’s me,” Quinn breathes back, her arms snaking around Rachel’s waist. “Hi.”

Rachel just breathes out, feeling her entire body just settle into the warmth of this embrace. She closes her eyes tightly for several beats, and then reluctantly releases Quinn, taking a small step back.

“Hey,” Rachel says, allowing herself to look at Quinn properly. Her hair is up, pinned slightly haphazardly. Her cheeks are flushed, and she looks a little flustered. It’s also the first time Rachel notices Quinn is actually wearing her chef jacket over her dress.

“You were cooking,” Rachel blurts out.

Quinn looks slightly amused. “I promised you I would cook a vegan meal for you,” she says. “And, Peter let me.”

“Peter, as in your Head Chef?”

Quinn grins at her. “Indeed,” she says. “We also get to have champagne.”

Rachel’s eyebrows rise. “He does know we’re underage, right?”

Quinn doesn’t respond as she steps forward. “Here,” she says. “We should sit, so dinner can get started.” She guides Rachel into her seat, and then steps away, removes her chef’s jacket, which renders Rachel stupidly speechless, and takes her own position opposite the brunette. “You look amazing, by the way.”

Rachel blushes brightly. “So do you, Quinn. And, thank you,” she says. “Noah said so.”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “I hope he wasn’t weird,” she says. “I told him to be on his best behaviour.”

“He was fine,” Rachel lets her know. “Though, we did kind of run into Finn on our way out, so I may or may not have to deal with that situation when I get back.”

Quinn winces. “Sorry.”

Rachel shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “He doesn’t matter. Only you do.”

Quinn smiles at her, and then looks away just as a server comes by with their water. He bends to whisper something to Quinn, and she nods. A moment later, he’s gone.

Rachel looks at Quinn expectantly.

Quinn just smiles again. “Do you want me to run through the menu?” she asks, her eyes getting brighter.

Rachel imagines she’s always like this when it comes to food. “Please.”

Quinn leans forward, everything about her looking as if it’s vibrating. “Well, we’re starting with avocado gazpacho soup.”

Rachel giggles softly. “You and your soups,” she says.

“It’s a lighter dish,” Quinn says, blushing slightly. “It’s refreshing and cleansing on the palette, and it’ll ensure you’re still hungry for what’s to come.”

If Rachel hears a hint of suggestion in her voice, she doesn’t address it. “I’m assuming you made it.”

“I made everything you’re going to eat tonight,” she says. “I told you I would cook for you, and I meant it.”

“So, this soup?”

“It’s basically avocados, heirloom tomatoes, basil, cilantro, tarragon and garlic, and then some lime juice just to finish it off nicely.”

“Sounds lovely,” Rachel comments. “What’s next?”

“Well, as our appetiser, we’ll be having Mediterranean vegetable Napoleons, which are also quite light. It’s, essentially, this constructed tower of beetroot and apple, with this beetroot marinade and cashew horseradish cream for depth of flavour and spice.”

“Mmm,” Rachel sounds, sipping at her water.

“Next, we’re having warm spinach salad with figs and butternut squash,” Quinn says. “It’s a lovely combination of sweet and savoury. I caramelised the figs and roasted the butternut squash, and Peter calls it decadent on the menu.”

“It sounds it,” Rachel says, delighting in the twinkling in Quinn’s hazel eyes. She’s absolutely gorgeous like this.

“Then, for our main, we’ll be having tofu and shiitake stacks with bok choy,” she says. “Apparently, I’m a fan of stacking things today. It’s basically marinated tofu stacked between shiitake mushrooms, all drizzled in puréed bok choy and ginger, to give it colour and a burst of flavour.”

“Wow.” Rachel shifts in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable, because, God, is she actually turned on right now? Just watching and hearing Quinn talk about food this way is making her... hot.

She’s almost relieved when their first course arrives, their server placing white bowls with a green liquid within in front of both of them. It smells fresh and vibrant, and Rachel allows her focus to drift, if only to calm the heat threatening to rise up her neck.

Rachel panics slightly at the numerous cutlery surrounding her bowl. Which one is the soup spoon? She should know this. She’s pretty sure she _does_ know this, and yet her mind has gone blank.

Nervously, she casts a look up at Quinn, squeaking in surprise when Quinn’s eyes are on her, slight wonder in the hazel.

“What?” Rachel asks, tilting her head slightly.

“I just - “ she breathes. “I’m just so glad you’re here,” she says. “I’ve missed you so, so much.”

Rachel thinks she might start crying, so she says, “Eat your soup. Or, drink it, whatever.”

Quinn just grins, not moving.

Rachel huffs out a breath. “Stop smiling at me like that,” she says; “and just tell me which one is the soup spoon.”

Quinn just laughs, saying nothing as she picks up her own spoon and starts to have her soup, her eyes remaining on Rachel the entire time.

Rachel does the same, picking up the same spoon Quinn has, and then moans at the taste.

Well.

Quinn clears her throat. “There are two parts to dessert,” she says. “The first is a blueberry and vanilla posset, which is kind of like a smooth, blended raw cheesecake. Which, okay, doesn’t sound so great when you put it like that, but you drink it, and it’s actually really nice.”

“If you made it, then I have no doubt,” Rachel says, loving the way Quinn blushes at the compliment.

“And, finally, we end with a vegan crème brûlée,” Quinn says with a mischievous grin.

Rachel’s eyes widen. “How on earth did you manage that? Isn’t it basically just cream and eggs?”

Quinn’s smile turns playful, almost wicked, and Rachel is so very in love with this wonderful, glorious girl. “The answer to that is coconut milk and pumpkin purée,” she says proudly.

Rachel has some more of her soup, and then leans forward, dropping the volume of her voice. “So, you said they’re only two desserts, huh? You’re sure there isn’t a third?”

Quinn blinks once, twice, and then smirks. “Well,” she says; “if you play your cards right, I might consider it.”

Okay, yeah, she’s definitely turned on.

Quinn winks cutely, and then drops her gaze to her bowl, her ears burning an adorable red.

Rachel can only marvel at the situation she currently finds herself in, sitting across from Quinn, eating Quinn’s food, right here in New York City. It’s surreal and amazing and completely out-of-this-world, and Rachel wants nothing more than to freeze time and just enjoy it.

* * *

Rachel keeps sneaking looks at Quinn whenever she can, the two of them chatting easily about nothing particularly important. It’s surprising just how easy it is. They could even be sitting across each other on _Skype_ , for all Rachel knows.

Except, no.

On _Skype_ , she wouldn’t be able to feel Quinn’s calf pressed against her shin, which is all kinds of amazing; she doesn’t even have the words to describe it.

The meal is easy, simple, and Rachel compliments Quinn on the food until the blonde is as red as a tomato, her own eyes glassy.

That might even be attributed to the glass of champagne Peter brought over for them to share when he introduced himself to Rachel between waves of dinner orders. He’s not really what she’s expecting, but he has kind eyes and a gentle smile. He obviously respects Quinn, even adores her a little, and Rachel appreciates that Quinn has all these good people in her life.

She has to remind herself she’s also one of them.

* * *

After they’ve eaten, Rachel filled to capacity, Quinn suggests they take a walk to work off the calories.

“I think it’s going to require more than a walk, Quinn,” Rachel grumbles good-naturedly as she gets to her feet. She didn’t even ask Quinn about the check that didn't appear, because, honestly, she doubts she could afford to pay half of it, anyway. This place is fancy.

“But, no regrets, right?” Quinn asks, and her voice trembles slightly.

Rachel meets her gaze. “Absolutely none.”

“Even the posset?”

Rachel grimaces. “I already told you I didn’t _hate_ it,” she says.

“You just didn’t love it,” Quinn says, smiling fondly. “It’s okay, Broadway. I imagine you have some very particular taste.”

Rachel gives her a very significant look, which says a hell of a lot about her taste. The flirting has been flowing throughout the entire dinner, ebbing this way and that, and Rachel’s entire body is still buzzing.

She never wants this night to end.

Quinn bravely slips her hand into Rachel’s, before she proceeds to lead the way out of the kitchen. Rachel casts one final look around, taking in all the shiny metal and crisp white. It all looks like a well-oiled machine, and she can just imagine Quinn working in this kind of kitchen for the rest of her life.

Because it’ll make her happy, and that’s all Rachel wants for her.

It happens when they’re weaving their way through the tables towards the door. Rachel sees her, and then freezes in place, causing Quinn to come to a stop as well.

She turns back, frowning. “Did you forget something?” she asks.

Rachel shakes her head. “Quinn,” she says, and she sounds strangled. “That’s Patti LuPone.”

Quinn raises her eyebrows. “I’m going to assume that’s someone famous,” she says, glancing around, as if she can spot who Rachel is talking about without the proper context. “Where is she? Do you want to go say hello?”

“Oh, my God,” Rachel says, panicking at the thought. “I can’t.” Then: “But I can’t _not_ , right? I would regret it if I didn’t say anything.”

Quinn just watches her have a conversation with herself, slightly amused. Eventually, she tugs on Rachel’s hand. “Come on,” she says; “let’s go say hello.”

Rachel allows herself to be dragged for a moment, before she tightens her grip on Quinn’s hand and turns them towards the table Patti LuPone is just now vacating. They have a small window of opportunity, and Rachel seems to gather herself in time to approach the older woman with the kind of beaming smile that’s blinding.

“Mrs LuPone,” Rachel starts brightly, easily getting the woman’s attention.

“Well, hello there, Darling.”

Rachel’s smile grows impossibly wider. “Sorry to bother you, but I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t come up here and let you know how much of a fan of yours I am. My Dad probably wouldn’t forgive me either.” She lets out a breath. “I’ve followed your work for years, and I can’t even explain to you just how much I admire all you’ve accomplished. If I could have half the career you’ve had, then I would be perfectly happy with that.”

Patti looks suitably interested. “Are you a singer as well?”

“I am,” Rachel says. “All my life, really. I’m actually in New York for our show choir Nationals.”

Patti smiles knowingly. “That’s a wonderful place to start,” she says. “I was in my high school show choir as well.”

“I know,” Rachel says, and then flushes, ducking her head. “Sorry. That probably sounded a little stalker-ish.”

“I love a fan,” she says. “What’s your name, dear?”

“Rachel Berry,” she answers automatically.

“And, who’s this?” Patti asks, looking at Quinn.

Quinn steps forward slightly, her left hand pressed against the small of Rachel’s back. “I’m Quinn,” she says. “It’s lovely to meet you, Ma’am. Rachel just couldn’t walk by and not say hello to you. I think you’ve just made her entire night.”

Patti notices the way Rachel looks at Quinn, wonder and admiration shining in her eyes, and a certain warmth blooms in the older woman’s chest. “Not me, dear,” Patti says to Quinn.

Quinn swallows, and then offers a small smile.

Patti looks at Rachel. “I think you have a good one here,” she says.

Rachel snaps to attention, flushing immediately. “I think so, too,” she says.

“Good luck with the competition,” she says. “And with your career. I look forward to seeing the name Rachel Berry up in lights one day.”

Rachel just nods dumbly, and then watches the woman walk away with the widest eyes imaginable. The only thing that brings her back to Earth is the feel of Quinn’s hand back in hers, giving it a squeeze.

“You okay?” Quinn asks.

“Am I dreaming?”

Quinn shakes her head. “It’s all real, Broadway.”

Rachel looks at her; _really_ looks at her. “It is, isn’t it?”


	5. Chapter 5

**V**

 

Their walk lasts nearly an hour, just the two of them strolling through the streets of New York with clasped hands and smiles that just won’t fade.

Rachel wants it to last for forever, but she lets out one too many yawns, and Quinn decides it’s time to head back to the hotel.

“I also have school in the morning,” Quinn adds, rolling her eyes.

“Am I going to see you again?” Rachel asks, and her voice sounds smaller than she wants it to.

Quinn glances at her. “One night of wining and dining not enough for you, huh?”

Rachel’s smile is a little sad. “No amount of time is enough, Quinn.”

Quinn audibly swallows. “Well, when you say it like that,” she says. “I’m going to see you again,” she confirms. “It’s just that you said you won’t really be allowed to leave, and I’m sure you’re going to be rehearsing tomorrow night, but I want to come watch you guys perform.” She pauses. “If that’s okay with you, of course.”

Rachel beams at her. “I would absolutely love that.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely,” Rachel confirms.

“Okay, awesome,” Quinn says happily. “Then, I’ll see you on Saturday. I can’t wait.”

“Me, either.”

When they get to the hotel, Rachel panics that Quinn is just going to leave her in the lobby, but she doesn’t. Instead, she rides up the elevator with her to the twelfth floor. Rachel can only wonder if Quinn’s heart is pounding as hard as hers is, and she’s momentarily glad they’re not alone in the confined space.

But, then, suddenly, they _are_ alone on the twelfth floor, the entire corridor completely silent. It’s late enough that people are either asleep or still partying up a storm in the bars and nightclubs.

Rachel hovers by the elevators, unsure if she wants to get closer to their hotel room. What if someone is still awake? What if someone comes out and sees them?

Rachel forgets every single one of her worries the second she feels Quinn tug on her hand, forcing her body to turn, and then there's a pair of warm lips against her own and a gentle hand sliding into her loose hair.

Rachel’s eyes flutter closed, allowing herself to be pulled closer by the fingers tangled in her hair. Quinn grazes at her lips with the tip of her tongue, and Rachel carefully parts them, allowing it to slide through.

Rachel hears and feels herself sigh into Quinn’s mouth. Her hands reach forward, slipping beneath the jacket Quinn is now wearing, and wrapping around her waist.

Quinn sighs, dragging her tongue more firmly over Rachel’s. Her mouth is warm and tastes of their dessert and champagne, which is heady and intoxicating.

Rachel doesn’t even care that she can barely breathe. Quinn’s fingers tangle more tightly in her hair and she moans, pulling her even closer. Her own hands are on Quinn’s back, her fingernails digging into the flesh through the fabric of Quinn’s dress.

It’s odd, Rachel thinks, that this kiss feels so much more important than their first ones. Maybe, those ones could have been crazy moments, but this one definitely isn’t. Rachel is going to remember every second of this one in startling detail.

Because, right now, there’s heat building in her stomach, and she steps forward so she can walk Quinn backwards until her shoulders thud against the closest wall. Her heart skips a beat at the soft giggle that seems to escape the blonde’s lips, which is quickly smothered by a groan as Rachel rakes her nails down her back, moving gradually lower.

Quinn suddenly drags her mouth away from Rachel’s, almost laughing at the disappointed whimper that follows, before she pulls back on Rachel’s hair to expose a glorious, smooth throat. She stares at the skin on display for the longest moment, before she’s moving again, scraping her front teeth along the tanned skin, and then dragging her tongue along the hollowness above her collarbone.

She follows the same path back up towards the brunette’s pulse. It’s throbbing through her skin, and Quinn doesn’t hesitate in covering it with her lips, nipping against the flesh and smirking at the way Rachel trembles against her.

Quinn kisses harder, swirling her tongue over the frantic beating, sucking at it until the blood begins to rush to the surface. Her grip on Rachel’s hair loosens as a result, and Rachel brings her hands up to Quinn’s face, pushing her harder against the wall and raining kisses along her perfect, pale skin.

Quinn lets out a long moan, and then chokes out the words, “We - we should probably stop.”

“Mm,” Rachel murmurs against Quinn’s throat, dragging her lips upwards and marvelling at the shaky breaths Quinn is taking. “Probably.”

Quinn’s head thuds back against the wall. “Rachel,” she groans. “We have to - Jesus, someone could see us.”

Rachel puffs out a breath, steeling herself, and then reluctantly pulls away. She sighs heavily, drawing her thumb along the blonde’s now pink and swollen bottom lip.

“I have to go,” Quinn says, and she sounds as if she might cry.

Rachel’s lips quirk upwards into a small smile, relieved that Quinn seems to want to stay as much as she wants her to. She leans forward and kisses the corner of Quinn’s mouth before she says, “I don’t want you to go.”

Quinn smiles knowingly, her breathing growing steady. “Oh? You want me to stay, huh?”

Rachel rolls her eyes, and then presses her lips back against Quinn’s, unable to stop herself. She feels Quinn grinning against them. Before she can slip her tongue back into Quinn’s mouth, though, she feels herself being gently pushed away.

“Rachel,” Quinn says with a sigh, holding Rachel by the shoulders, maintaining significant distance between them.

Rachel sucks in a deep breath, and takes another step back. “Okay,” she says. “Okay.”

“I’m going to see you on Saturday,” Quinn says, smiling softly. “You better win.”

“I’m going to try.”

“I have to go,” she says. “My phone has been vibrating for twenty long minutes, and I may or may not end up grounded after all of this.”

Rachel blushes. “If you’re expecting an apology, you’re going to have to look elsewhere.”

Quinn just laughs, as they settle into a long pause. Clearly, neither of them is willing to leave just yet, even though it’s beyond necessary now.

“You have to go,” Rachel has, taking another step back. “I have to get to sleep, as well.”

“Exactly.”

Rachel sighs happily. “I had a great time tonight,” she says. “Truly, Quinn, it was the best first date I’ve ever been on.”

Quinn blushes. “I sincerely hope it’ll be the last first date you’ll ever have.”

It takes a moment to click, and then Rachel smiles so widely her cheeks hurt. “Me too,” she finally says.

Quinn’s eyes take in everything about Rachel’s face, committing it to memory. Her gaze drops slightly, and then she winces. “Do you have a scarf?”

“What?”

Quinn’s smile is a little nervous. “I’m not really sure how you’re supposed to explain how you got a great big hickey on your neck.”

Rachel’s hand immediately shoots up to her pulse point, her eyes wide. “ _What_?”

Quinn can’t help her laugh. “Sorry,” she says, though she doesn’t sound it. “I wasn’t really thinking.”

Rachel shakes her head. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she mutters.

Quinn tilts her head to the side. “I love you.” The words fall so easily out of her mouth, and Rachel has to lean forward to press her lips against hers for a few last seconds.

“I love you, too,” she whispers, and then pulls back. Quinn really needs to get going, or Rachel will never let her leave. “I love you, too,” she repeats, because she can and she should. This is the first time they get to say it in person, and Rachel will be damned if she wastes the opportunity.

Quinn looks so happy, and Rachel thinks she suddenly gets what Noah was saying. It’s as if her entire world is just lit up, and Rachel feels exactly the same.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Kurt wakes Rachel up with the words _tell me everything_ , and then they’re heading out of the hotel for breakfast at Tiffany’s. She makes sure to take her songwriting notebook, because there’s a certain melody in her head, and she thinks she has the lyrics to match.

 _Thank you, Quinn_.

She does tell him everything, leaving nothing out. He practically swoons at the romance of it all, squeals when she tells him about Patti LuPone, and then flushes when she mentions the impromptu make-out session in the hotel corridor.

“No wonder Finn was so mopey last night,” he says. “I think he even channelled all his teenage boy angst into an actual song.”

“Really?”

He nods. “I guess we’ll see what happens when we get back.”

 

* * *

 

It’s later, after she and Kurt have performed on the stage at the Gershwin, and after they’ve learned about Mr Schuester’s potential new job, only for him to say he’s staying, and after they’ve managed to put together an actual set list - Finn did end up writing the skeleton for a song that Mr Schuester helped him clean up, and Rachel led them through the song she woke up hearing in her head - that a certain package arrives at their hotel room.

Well, it actually gets delivered to where the New Directions are rehearsing in one of the events’ halls, and Rachel gasps at the sight of it. It’s obviously a food basket - the largest she’s ever seen - full of energy bars and drinks, bottles of water, various fruits, whole pizzas and chocolate treats a plenty. It even has cold coffee, which Sam and Mike go for immediately.

Rachel fights tears at the sheer thought of Quinn doing this for her. There’s a single note, with the words _knock ‘em dead, ND_ in Quinn’s perfect script, and she doesn’t really know how to explain who it’s from.

Finn just sends her a wounded look, Kurt’s smile is wide and knowing, and everyone else is just curious.

”Maybe it’s from Jesse,” Mercedes offers, reaching for a slice of pizza, because they’re now taking an unexpected break from rehearsals.

Rachel ignores them all, grabbing one of the vegan energy bars, and then turns away to retrieve her phone from her bag. She has a single text from Quinn that was sent nearly twenty minutes ago, and she automatically smiles at the sight of just her name.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Broadway, hey. I’m beyond exhausted, so I’m going to turn in early (like, right now). I hope rehearsals are going well, and you haven’t yet killed one another. Stay hydrated. I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you. Xx_

Rachel doesn’t think it’s possible, but her heart feels as if it doubles in size. It’s probably a necessity, given the amount of love that’s currently filling it. With a dreamy sigh, she begins her reply.

 **Rachel Berry** : _Poor, baby Quinn. You’ve had a crazy week, haven’t you? Okay, you get some sleep, okay? Goodnight, and dream sweetly, my love. I promise I will. Frankly, I can’t wait. I love you :*_

She puts her phone away again, wondering if Quinn has really already gone to bed. Either way, it’s doubtful Rachel will reply if Quinn actually does send something back. She’s going to see her the next day, and she kind of wants to be better than terrible when they get up on that stage.

The New Directions are still chatting when she returns to the group, and she starts when Tina asks her if she knows who the gift is from.

She sucks in a breath, and then says, “My dads.”

“Oh, well, that’s awesome of them,” Sam says, stuffing an entire slice of pizza into his mouth.

The lie tastes like acid in her mouth, and she’s vaguely aware of Kurt moving to stand behind her, giving her some silent support. She appreciates him for it, but she can’t help worrying about what’ll happen when she doesn’t think she can handle the secrecy anymore.

It’s all so sobering and polarising.

Mr Schuester gets them back to rehearsing ten minutes later, and Rachel has never been more relieved for the distraction in her life.

 

* * *

 

The nerves don’t really set in until half an hour before they’re scheduled to go on stage. Rachel doesn’t think her heart has settled at all this entire trip to New York and, while that would probably require a visit to the hospital, she welcomes it.

Between Quinn and New York, how could she have expected anything else?

But, she’s actually nervous, which is strange for her. It might be the knowledge that Quinn is sitting out there somewhere. The blonde texted when she arrived, letting her know she was seated somewhere in the back of the theatre with Noah.

It’s around that time Rachel started to... forget the lyrics. Granted, she’s only had about twelve hours to learn the songs and choreography, and now they’re expected to perform it perfectly. Mr Schuester really expects far too much from them. They’re really just a group of teenagers.

If Rachel is struggling - and she’s well-trained and a competent performer - then she can only imagine how difficult it is for the others.

Either way, in less than a half-hour, they’re going to be taking the stage and nothing else is going to matter. She can feel the seconds ticking away, and she can’t tell if she wants them to speed up or slow down.

She has just enough time to check her phone before they’re called for places, and she feels every part of her body settle at the sight of Quinn’s words.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Broadway, hey. I can’t even explain how excited I am to see you sing live. Like, I can barely contain myself. Noah might just stab me with his straw if I keep this up. Good luck up there. Break a leg (as you arty types like to say). I love you. Xx_

Rachel smiles to herself, shoots back a quick _I love you, too_ , and then puts her phone away. She has a mark to get to, and there are suddenly people with headsets yelling for them to move into position. Her heart starts to beat that bit faster again, and she just about manages to smile at Finn when he wishes her luck.

It’s a mistake she makes, she’ll soon come to realise, because he uses the opportunity to profess his feelings again, imploringly and wholeheartedly.

She feels bad for him, she really does, and she allows her features to soften. She thinks she’s experienced liking someone who probably doesn’t like her back before, so she thinks she understands.

“Finn,” she breathes. “My place is New York,” she says, and New York is Quinn. “In a year, I’m going to be back here, and I won’t let anything or anyone get in the way of that. Do you understand?”

He blinks. “But, I thought you wanted me,” he says. “I love you, Rachel. Isn’t that enough?”

She sighs. “It’s not,” she confirms. “I’m sorry.” And, then, she steps back, turns and returns to her position. She feels both settled and unsettled, and she doesn’t have time to figure out how that could be, before she hears the music cue.

She has a song to sing.

Which she does, flawlessly.

She almost forgets that the entire world even exists, her own heart displayed on her sleeve, because she’s singing about want and longing and searching for a feeling. She imagines she’s singing with and about Quinn, and it has to show on her face.

It’s the only thing that makes sense.

She and Finn seem so lost in the song, and she can only imagine what it looks like to everyone else, but her heart is thumping, her nerve-endings alight with the thrill of singing on a stage in front of hundreds of people.

 

 _Face to face and heart to heart_  
_We're so close yet so far apart_  
_I close my eyes I look away_  
_That's just because I'm not okay_  
_But I hold on, I stay strong  
_ _Wondering if we still belong_

 _Will we ever say the words we're feeling_  
_Reach down underneath and tear down all the walls_  
_Will we ever have our happy ending?_  
_Or will we forever only be pretending?  
_ _Will we always, always, always be pretending_

 _How long do I fantasise_  
_Make believe that it's still alive_  
_Imagine that I am good enough_  
_And we can choose the ones we love_  
_But I hold on, I stay strong  
_ _Wondering if we still belong,_

 _Will we ever say the words we're feeling_  
_Reach down underneath and tear down all the walls_  
_Will we ever have our happy ending?_  
_Or will we forever only be pretending?  
_ _Will we always, always, always be_

 _Keeping secrets safe_  
_Every move we make_  
_Seems like no one’s letting go_  
_And it's such a shame_  
_Cause if you feel the same  
_ _How am I supposed to know?_

 _Will we ever say the words we're feeling_  
_Reach down underneath and tear down all the walls_  
_Will we ever have our happy ending?_  
_Or will we forever only be pretending?_  
_Will we always, always, always be_  
_Will we always, always, always be  
_ _Will we always, always, always be pretending?_

 

Her chest is heaving, and her head is swimming with all the good feelings as the song finally ends, the music fading to nothing and she and Finn standing together in the centre of the stage. He’s looking at her with an inscrutable expression on his face, and she realises what it means a beat too late.

Because, then, he’s closing the distance between them and kissing her.

Right on stage.

In front of everyone.

The judges, the cameras, the audience.

 _Quinn_.

That thought snaps Rachel right out of her frozen state, and she jerks back, her eyes open wide. Now, her heart is beating at an alarming rate, and it’s for a terrible reason.

She’s terrified, and enraged and _how dare he_?

Finn smiles a little hesitantly and holds out his hand to guide them to their secondary position. She ignores his offer and walks herself to her starting point for _Light Up the World._

Still, she’s a professional, and her mind latches onto the thought that the show must go on with a vengeance as she allows the upbeat music to take over her frazzled nerves. She has three and a bit minutes to get through, and then she can deal with the aftermath of one of the most humiliating things to happen to her.

The words are automatic, and the choreography is almost muscle memory at this point, and the song ends before she knows it, and there’s such a forced smile on her face.

She allows herself to soak up the applause for exactly thirteen seconds before she storms off the stage, needing to get away from Finn before she does something potentially disastrous and stabs him with her heel.

She’s practically seething, and she makes her way as far away from everyone as she can manage. She hates that angry tears are pooling in her eyes, and she hates that Finn stole a kiss from her. Quinn is the only person she wants to kiss.

She had this little fantasy that from the moment she kissed Quinn, the blonde would be the only person she would ever kiss again for the rest of her life. It’s stupid, she knows, but it’s something else, as well.

Something she can’t quite put her finger on.

Her mind jumps to the terrifying thought that Quinn could no longer want her after this. God. What happens then?

She’s pretty sure she’ll actually strangle Finn. She won’t even think twice about it.

But, no. She knows Quinn wouldn’t leave her over this, and she just needs to calm her mind.

She needs fresh air, that’s what she needs.

She needs -

Rachel lets out a surprised squeak when she feels a hand close around her wrist, and she’s so ready to lay into whoever it is - particularly if it’s Finn - but her voice gets stuck in her throat at the sight of Quinn’s hazel eyes.

She needs _Quinn_.

She’s mortified by the choked sob that escapes her lips, but then Quinn is pulling her into the tightest hug imaginable.

She sinks into Quinn’s embrace immediately, breathing in her scent and finding comfort in the strength of the arms around her. All she can really do is clutch onto Quinn’s shirt as tightly as she can and focus on her breathing, so she doesn’t actually cry.

Quinn just holds her for a slice of eternity, and Rachel doesn’t even care that they haven’t quite managed to make it outside yet. She imagines they’re receiving curious looks, but nothing beyond the steady beating of Quinn’s heart seems to register with her.

She isn’t even sure she wants Quinn to speak to her, but the second the blonde says, “I love you,” everything just gets infinitely better. The assurance allows her to release a breath she didn’t even know she was holding, and then she squirms to get Quinn’s grip to loosen.

Rachel doesn’t move too far away. She shifts back just enough to be able to look into Quinn’s eyes, suddenly wary of what she’s going to find there. She’s surprised and also not to find Quinn’s expression open and understanding. Her eyes are light, gentle and full of affection and love that Rachel suddenly feels so undeserving of it all.

“I’m sorry,” she automatically says.

Quinn’s forehead creases. “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for,” she says. “Do you hear me? You’ve done nothing wrong, and none of it is your fault, and nobody blames you. Least of all me.”

“Can you really say that?”

“I can,” Quinn says, and she sounds resolute. “Watch me.”

Rachel lets out a shaky breath as she steps out of Quinn’s embrace and straightens her outfit. “I don’t even know what happened.”

Quinn tries for a smile. “Not that I condone any of his actions or his timing, I can certainly understand how merely hearing you sing would make a person want to kiss you senseless.”

And, now, Rachel is blushing. “Quinn,” she breathes, and then moves to hug her, which is lesser than the second evil of actually kissing her right here in the open.

“I mean, I obviously wouldn’t have done it, but I generally always want to kiss you, which is a problem for which I may or may not need to seek professional help.”

Rachel giggles softly, dropping her arms but not moving away. She huffs out a breath. “This is why I’m gay,” she murmurs against Quinn’s collar. “Boys are so stupid.”

Quinn tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Do you want me to get Noah to beat him up?” she asks, and she sounds far too serious. “I would offer to do it myself, but my hands are kind of my livelihood.”

Rachel lets out an unexpected laugh, and then shakes her head as she straightens up. “Don’t do that,” she says. “Either of those things.”

“You sure?”

Rachel sighs. “I’m sure,” she says. “I just - I needed a moment, I suppose. I’m fine, now. I definitely needed to see you, but I think I can face him and them now, and I need to get back eventually, to find out if we made it to the showcase.”

Quinn winces, immediately dropping her gaze.

“What?”

“I don’t want to say I would know what the judges will think of the display, but, from where I was sitting as an audience member with absolutely no stake in what I just witnessed, it was totally awkward as fuck.”

Rachel blinks. “Was it really that bad?”

Quinn nods, grimacing. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I never really thought why people never... kissed at those climactic points, but I totally understand it now.”

Rachel groans, dropping her head to rest her forehead against Quinn’s sternum. Quinn’s scent is stronger in this position, and she’s been unable to place what it is exactly. Something fruity; some kind of citrus, maybe.

“Rachel, there you are!”

She jerks back, her neck clicking. “Jesse?” she says, clearly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking for you,” he says, sounding slightly breathless. “Are you okay?”

Rachel blinks in surprise. “What?”

“What Hudson did was extremely unprofessional,” Jesse says with a shake of his head, looking particularly disturbed. “Honestly, what was he thinking? The judges are not going to like it at all. He’s just cost you Nationals. I’m so sorry. I know how hard you’ve worked for this.”

Rachel is particularly bewildered by everything Jesse is saying, and how fast he’s saying it.

Jesse takes a deep breath, and then asks, “Are you okay?” in a softer tone, as if he’s just coming back to himself.

Rachel eventually nods, her left hand automatically reaching to hold onto Quinn’s forearm. “I’m fine,” she says.

Jesse watches the movement, frowning slightly. He turns his gaze on Quinn as if he’s seeing her for the first time. Hazel eyes are regarding him critically, and he feels suitably exposed, as if he’s not wearing any clothes.

No.

As if he’s not wearing any _skin_.

He resists the urge to shudder.

Rachel clears her throat. “Jesse, this is Quinn,” she says, getting the boy’s attention. “Quinn, I’ve told you about Jesse.”

Quinn’s smile is polite, and it seems as if she’s managed to make a decision about him. “Nice to meet you,” she says. Then, because she’s decided Jesse is preferable to Finn, she says, “I hear you’ve already had the pleasure of landing a blow on Finn Hudson.”

Rachel rolls her eyes. “Stop it,” she warns softly.

Jesse glances between the two of them. “I’m confused,” he says. “Who’re you?”

“Quinn,” Quinn answers unhelpfully.

Rachel pinches her skin, getting a yelp from the blonde. “Quinn’s my best friend,” she tells Jesse. “And, she was just returning to her seat, so I can go and find out where we placed.”

“If you placed at all,” Jesse mutters under his breath, and Quinn shoots him a look that’s a cross between a light reprimand and unconcealed amusement.

Rachel just shakes her head. “I don’t think I could handle two of you.”

Quinn just grins at her.

Jesse’s smile is entirely too innocent, and Rachel thinks she’s going to rue the day she ever introduced them to each other.

“Behave,” she says, though she doesn’t know which one of them it’s aimed at. “I have to go.”

Quinn just squeezes her hip in silent support, and then Rachel steps away from them. She hesitates for a moment, and then grabs hold of Jesse’s forearm.

“Come with me,” she says, and she hates the way her voice trembles. She doesn’t want to appear weak, but she thinks she’s going to need him around for when she inevitably has to face Finn.

And, it’s a good thing he’s there, too, because, the second the list of finalists is posted and New Directions is nowhere to be seen, all hell breaks loose.

Santana lunges for her, and it takes three people to hold the Latina back, and then Finn starts going on and on about the epicness of the kiss and how he doesn’t regret it, and Jesse realises she probably brought him along so _she_ doesn’t end up hurting _Finn_.

He almost laughs at the image that creates in his head.

But, it’s the lingering image of Rachel’s forehead pressed against the strange, blonde girl’s chest that really stays with him.

 

* * *

 

Once Santana has calmed into silence, Mr Schuester fumbles through a pep talk, and then dismisses them, leaving them to their own devices until the next day. He hands out food vouchers for them to sort out their own dinner, and then allows them out on the town until their apparent curfew of ten-thirty.

Rachel knows she shouldn’t be anywhere near Santana, or Finn, so, it’s with immense relief, excitement and anxiety that she agrees when Quinn very purposefully says, “You’re coming with me. Bring Kurt along.”

Of course, the boy jumps at the opportunity and, after a quick stop at the hotel to get changed out of their performance outfits, she and Kurt find themselves roaming the streets of New York City with Quinn and Noah by a little after four o’clock in the afternoon.

“Where to, Q?” Noah asks.

Quinn glances over at Rachel and Kurt. “Are you two hungry?” she asks. “Food is kind of my specialty, and I could take you on the kind of quick food tour to change your world.”

Noah snorts. “Someone’s full of herself.”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “Or, I guess, we could find a café somewhere, and just hang out,” she suggests. “I know I’d like to get to know you better, Kurt, and Noah here claims he has some questions for Rachel.”

Rachel’s eyes widen comically, and Noah laughs out loud.

“About music, Broadway,” Noah assures her, and she breathes out in relief. “I know Quinn mentioned to you I’m in a band.”

“I’ve seen some of your videos, yes,” Rachel says, shifting closer to him as they walk.

“Well, we were thinking of expanding our repertoire, and I think you might be the perfect person to talk to.”

Rachel visibly perks up. “I’m always happy to help.”

Quinn can’t possibly explain the feeling that blooms in her chest at seeing her best friend and girlfriend getting along. It’s warmth and happiness and relief and just everything positive, and she wants to freeze this moment forever.

It gets marginally better when she feels Kurt step up to her side. He was initially hesitant, clearly unsure how to act around her, but he seems to have settled. She’s a completely normal teenager, so he gets to be, as well.

“I love your boots,” is what he says, and she lets out an unexpected laugh.

Yip.

This moment right here.

She wants to hold onto it for as long as life will let her.

 

* * *

 

Quinn takes them to one of her favourite bakeries, promising Kurt the best hot chocolate he’s ever had this side of the pond - she’ll be the first to say that the French do it quite well, and she hasn’t yet found anything that can quite compare in New York.

This particular bakery, though, also has several vegan options, and Rachel doesn’t know how it’s possible to fall even more in love at this point.

She and Quinn get seated on one side of the table, and Noah and Kurt sit on the other. She’s all too aware of Quinn sitting a little too close to her, but she’s really not going to complain.

“What would you recommend?” Rachel asks, barely even looking at the menu. She has half a mind to ask Quinn to order for her, which the blonde seems to pick up on.

Quinn offers Rachel a quick wink, and then looks at Kurt. “Do you trust me to order for you?” she asks.

“God, yes,” he says, and Rachel giggles at his response.

Noah laughs loudly, and Quinn just looks amused.

“Do you have any favourite flavours?” she asks.

“Not really,” he says. “I’m not a big fan of nuts, but I can handle everything else. I’m also more of a white chocolate person.”

Noah slams a hand over his mouth. “Don’t say that too loudly,” he says, glancing around. “Some chocolatiers don't accept white chocolate as an actual chocolate.”

Kurt frowns, carefully moving Noah’s hand away. “It literally has the word chocolate in its name.”

“Seriously, dude,” Noah says. “I dated one of Quinn’s friends from the CulClub, and she ripped me apart. You gotta be careful around these foodies.”

Kurt looks at Quinn, questions in his eyes.

“I would listen to him,” she says as she gets to her feet. “We all have our own sets of knives.”

Kurt just stares helplessly as Quinn walks away from the table, heading towards the display cases. He finally looks at Noah again. “She’s kidding, right?”

“About the knives, no,” he says. “It’s kind of a hallmark of a chef; having your own set of knives. Quinn’s are particularly killer.”

And, okay, Rachel can’t possibly control her laughter at the look on Kurt’s face. It’s utterly priceless, and she’s so tempted to take out her phone and snap a picture of him.

Speaking of.

When Quinn gets back to the table after having placed their secret order, Rachel requests them all to pose for a picture, and they get one of the servers to take it for them.

Well, she ends up taking three pictures, because Quinn keeps looking at Rachel in each of them, which is both comical and a little embarrassing.

Rachel tries to keep her blush under control when she takes back the phone, but she can’t seem to, and she can’t look any of them in the eye. Especially the entirely-too-smug girl sitting beside her.

She’s honestly never been more relieved to see a tray of calories approaching their table than in this moment. Noah immediately perks up, Kurt looks mildly curious, Rachel shimmies in her seat, but it’s Quinn’s delight at their reactions that makes Rachel’s heart just melt.

Quinn allows the server to set the tray on the table, and then politely asks to serve them herself. The girl, who introduced herself as Brigitte, looks caught off guard for a moment, but eventually acquiesces, smiling only at Quinn.

Rachel feels a flash of jealousy that eases the second Brigitte is out of sight and Quinn shoots her a conspiratorial wink. She automatically smiles back, feeling a little embarrassed that Quinn can so easily read her. They’ve spent less than six hours in each other’s physical presence, and yet it feels as if they’ve been doing this dance their entire lives.

“So, _we’re_ having real hot chocolate,” Quinn says, setting the cups of thick liquid in front of Kurt, Noah and herself. “It’s essentially dark chocolate buttons melted in frothed milk, and you can both thank me later.” She looks at Rachel. “And, for this gorgeous girl, we have vegan hot chocolate, which is basically just cocoa, coconut oil and almond milk.” She sets the cup in front of the brunette, and smiles this smile that makes Rachel miss her, even though she’s sitting right beside her.

Quinn straightens slightly, and returns her attention to the tray. “So, I ordered these things called Bliss Balls for the table,” she says. “They’re just made of cocoa, cashew and orange, but they’re delicious. Vegan, too.”

Noah pulls a face. “Gross.”

“Five bucks says you love it,” Quinn immediately counters.

Noah just rolls his eyes. “What delicious thing did you order for me?”

“For you, my dear Puckerman, we have peanut butter Nutella coffee cake,” she says, laughing at the way his eyes literally light up. “It’s a delectable combination of peanut butter and chocolate, mixed with roasted peanuts for a salty crunch. And it comes with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.”

“I’m in heaven,” he says, licking his lips and holding out his hands. “Gimme, gimme.”

Quinn just smiles as she sets the dessert in front of him, and then looks at Kurt. “And, for Mr Hummel here, we have a slice of their natural strawberry cake with browned butter frosting,” she says. “It’s actually one of my favourites, and I have a feeling you’re going to love it. It has chunks of fresh strawberries in the actual cake, and the frosting is rich and divine.”

Kurt nods happily, dragging his treat closer to him when Quinn sets it on the table and inhaling deeply.

Rachel turns her gaze on Quinn when the blonde taps the top of her hand with gentle fingers.

“This is for you,” Quinn says. “It’s lime coconut vegan cake. One of their specialties, as far as I know, with the flavour enhanced by the lime zest rather than just lime juice.”

She smiles softly in acknowledgement when Quinn sets the dessert in front of her. “Have you really tried all these things?” she asks curiously.

Quinn nods. “What kind of food education would I be trying to get if I didn’t try everything?” she asks. “Taste is the most important part, no matter what anyone says.”

“I thought it was all about the presentation,” Noah says, and he’s obviously teasing.

Quinn rolls her eyes and grumbles, “Shut up.”

Rachel doesn’t think she’ll tire of getting to witness Quinn in her element, just watching her interact with her best friend and talk about food. There’s such an ease about her that makes Rachel feel so comfortable, and she can’t stop herself from wanting to live in Quinn’s existence.

Wow.

Okay.

That’s intense.

Rachel clears her throat, trying to ease her own heartbeat. “What are you having?” she asks Quinn.

“Carrot cake,” she answers. “I make a point of trying it wherever I go, and the lady behind the counter told me they’re actually using a different recipe now, so I thought I would give it a go.” She frowns slightly. “This is actually the first time in a while I’m having some kind of baked good here. I usually come only for the hot chocolate. Particularly after a rough test.”

“Is this place near your school?” Rachel asks, leaning over her own hot chocolate and inspecting the thick liquid the same way Kurt seems to be doing with his own. She obviously trusts Quinn’s judgment, but she’s tasted some awful attempts at vegan cooking in her lifetime.

Including her own, of course.

“Two blocks that way,” Quinn says, pointing somewhere to her right. “Within walking distance.”

Noah puffs out a breath. “You’d walk to Brooklyn if you could,” he teases. “Everything is within walking distance for you.”

Quinn smiles softly at him. “If only I had the time,” she says, almost wistfully, and then looks at Kurt. “How is it?” she asks.

The boy smiles around his fork. “Is it unheard of to claim I want to marry this cake?”

Quinn laughs loudly. “Uh, people usually claim they want to marry the chef,” she points out.

Kurt shakes his head. “But they have knives,” he says. “This cake won’t kill me.”

“Diabetes,” Noah quips around a mouthful of his own cake, which makes them all laugh, and Rachel can’t remember a time she’s ever been this happy.

 

* * *

 

At just after six-thirty, Noah exaggerates a yawn, and then incredibly tactlessly suggests that it’s time for him and Kurt to leave.

Quinn just shakes her head in amusement, but she’ll definitely thank him for it in the morning. He’s honestly the best friend she’s ever had, and she wouldn’t swap him for anything.

Rachel is equally amused, but hers is tinged with sudden anxiety. Of course, she wants to be left alone with Quinn, but it also terrifies her a little. Still, she hugs both Noah and Kurt goodbye, Noah promising to make sure that Kurt gets safely to where he’s going to meet up with Mercedes, Mike and Tina.

Then it’s just the two of them, and Rachel can barely look at her.

Quinn clears her throat, shifting her empty plate away from her. “So,” she starts; “I have a thought.”

“I’m listening.”

Quinn licks her lips. “How would you like to come to my house and have dinner with me and my family?”

Of all the things Rachel is expecting Quinn to say, that’s _definitely_ not it, and she automatically sucks in a sharp, surprised breath.

Quinn tenses. “Unless - I mean - you really don’t have to. We - we could do something else. There’s tons of things to do in New York, and I’m sure I could think of - “

“Are you sure?” Rachel asks, interrupting Quinn’s adorable ramble.

Quinn smiles shyly. “I’m sure,” she says. “I know my mom has met you, but I want her to _know_ you. I want them all to know you, even as just my best friend. You’re important to me. They obviously know that, and I just - “ she halts. “Is it so crazy to think that, if they already know and love you, it might make the blow a little easier to handle when I come out?”

Rachel reaches for her hand, carefully sliding her fingers over Quinn’s. “It’s not crazy,” she says, and she means it. Then, because she needs to know, she says, “You said _when_ you come out.”

Quinn nods, meeting her gaze. “I - I don’t think I can hide it anymore,” she confesses quietly. “Part of me thinks my mom already suspects it. I just - I thought it made sense to wait until I turned eighteen, just in case it all went wrong, somehow. I mean, I could probably take care of myself right now, but...” she trails off. “I don’t want to _have_ to,” she says. “And, my birthday is _so far away._ ”

It’s the first time Rachel is made aware of just how young Quinn is; how young they both are. They’re still high school students, somehow involved in a long-distance relationship that started on _Twitter_. They can’t even legally vote yet.

What kind of story are they going to tell their children?

And, that’s really not something she should be thinking about right now.

“So, will you come to dinner?” Quinn asks, her eyes hopeful. “I’ll cook whatever you want.” She glances at her watch. “Though, I suspect my mom has already started prep, so we’ll probably have to rush. If you want to go, of course. I mean, we don’t have to, if you’re not ready. I don’t know how I would feel if this were the other way around, but I - “

“God, I am so in love with you,” Rachel says, interrupting yet another of Quinn’s rambles.

Quinn blushes instantly. “I’m going to take that as a yes,” she says, already calling for the check. “Let me text my mom to tell her. I think, if Frannie finds out you’re here, she’ll also blow off whatever she has planned for tonight to join us.”

Rachel audibly swallows. “No pressure at all, huh?”

“They’re going to love you,” Quinn says, her eyes on her phone as she types out a message to her mother. “It’s impossible not to. Believe me, I should know.”

Rachel wants to reach out to touch her again, but that’s the moment Brigitte appears with the check, and Rachel can’t stop her scowl at the flirty look on the server’s face.

If Quinn sees it, she doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she takes out her bank card to pay, and shoots Rachel a challenging look when she goes to protest.

“But Noah and Kurt both left cash,” Rachel points out.

Quinn ignores her, quickly signing for the payment, and then handing it all back to Brigitte with a polite smile. She avoids the girl’s eyes, and then turns back to Rachel. “Ready to go?”

Rachel glances at Brigitte as she stands there, hesitating, before she turns and walks away. Rachel knows she shouldn't smile, but she does. “Did she leave her number for you?” she has to ask.

Quinn rolls her eyes, because, of course, Rachel would bring it up. “I handed it back,” she says. “I’m taken.”

“That, you are.”

Quinn slowly gets to her feet, and then pushes her chair back under the table. “We don’t live too far away from here,” she says. “We can walk, or we can take a cab.”

“How far is too far away from here?” Rachel asks, letting herself slip an arm around Quinn’s. There’s nothing wrong with the action, she thinks, and Quinn seems relaxed about it.

“A couple of blocks.”

Rachel gives it a bit of thought. “We can walk,” she says, because getting to be with Quinn in this capacity - experiencing her in her element - is literally everything.

 

* * *

 

From what they find when they finally get to the Fabray home, it’s evident Judy has already started on dinner. They can smell something coming from the direction of the kitchen as they step into the loft.

Quinn immediately takes her jacket from her, hanging it up with her own. The nights can get a little chilly, but it’s still proving to be a warm summer in New York. It’s definitely hotter than Lima.

“Mom?” Quinn calls out, slipping her hand into Rachel’s and leading the way through the wide open living room.

Rachel tries to take in as much of it as she possibly can, her eyes darting this way and that. From Quinn’s videos, she’s caught snippets of the living room, her father’s study, her bedroom and, of course, the kitchen.

Which, in itself, is a surreal experience. The kitchen is the same, but also different. She’s never seen anyone other Quinn actually work in it, so that’s a bit to wrap her mind around.

She’s standing in Quinn Fabray’s kitchen.

Okay.

“Hey, Mom,” Quinn says, pulling Rachel further into the room and dropping her hand when Judy turns around.

Rachel isn’t sure what to expect from the older blonde, but the blinding smile isn’t it. Judy just looks so happy to see her, and there’s only slight hesitation as the woman drags her into an unexpected hug that seems to surprise both teenagers.

“Check the pot there, Quinnie,” Judy tosses over her shoulder.

Quinn laughs. “Oh, sure, Mom,” she grumbles. “I mean, where’s _my_ hug?”

“I just saw you this morning,” Judy says, finally releasing Rachel and placing her hands on the sides of her face. “I haven’t seen Rachel since we were in Columbus. And, I have to take in this gorgeous face again.”

Rachel’s eyes are wide under Judy’s scrutiny, and her heart is beating much too fast. It’s as if Judy is studying her, making some decision about her, and she forces herself to meet the woman’s gaze with a steady look of her own.

If Quinn is right and Judy knows, then she must know Rachel is more than just Quinn’s friend, so this moment is important. Rachel can falter later. Right now, she needs to be present and determined, because she loves Quinn and they’re going to be together, regardless of what her parents say.

Whatever Judy sees in her eyes must satisfy her, because she nods once, and then drops her hands and turns away.

Quinn is watching them with a slight frown. “Mom, that was so weird,” she says. “Did you start on the wine early?”

Judy throws a dish towel at her. “You’re lucky Rachel’s here,” she says. “I’m not against adding in a habanero to the sauce.”

Quinn grins at her, the crease completely disappearing from her forehead. “If Simon’s coming, please do it.”

Judy scowls, and Quinn just smiles wider. “They’re not coming,” she says. “Apparently, they’re having dinner with some of Simon’s friends from college, but Frannie says she’s thinking of sneaking off at some point. She wants to meet Rachel.”

“Oh?”

Judy nods. “She’s important to you,” she says, her eyes on Quinn. “Why wouldn’t she want to meet her?”

Quinn looks a little stumped, because Judy’s voice sounds heavy with something unspoken.

Judy moves on quickly. “I’m assuming you’ll be making something vegan.”

This time, Rachel is the one who’s caught speechless. Judy actually remembers? Wait. Judy actually _knows_?

Quinn recovers first, blinking once, twice, before looking into the pot on the stovetop. “Did you add any stock into here?” she asks.

“No.”

“I can use this,” she says. “Make a tomato sauce with some pasta, maybe. Do you think Dad will be okay with a vegan meal?”

Judy laughs. “You know he loves whatever you make.”

Quinn looks at Rachel. “He used to get so animated about whatever I made when I was little,” she explains. “Too much spice and he would fall off his chair, or, too much salt and he would down an entire jug of water. But he loved everything, apparently. As I got older, I started to wonder if he was just faking it.”

Judy lets out a laugh.

Quinn winks at Rachel. “He wasn’t, of course,” she says. “I’m a damn good cook.”

“Put your skills where your mouth is, Fabray,” Rachel challenges, and then watches as Quinn’s entire demeanour shifts, her eyes getting darker.

Quinn quirks a finger. “Come here,” she says, and Rachel goes willingly, stepping around the kitchen island as Judy fetches something from the fridge.

It’s only when Rachel is standing right beside Quinn that the blonde says, “I’d rather put something else where my mouth is,” in a low voice.

Rachel squeaks in surprise, her eyes widening.

“Rachel?” Judy says from behind them, and the brunette turns, her heart racing and her face flushed. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Rachel blinks. “Um, I’ll just have some water, please.”

Quinn lets out a soft snort at the way her voice trembles, and Rachel pokes her in the ribs, making her yelp. “Hey.”

Rachel just smiles at her, secretly marvelling at how natural this all feels. There have been so few awkward moments between them, and it truly amazes her. This entire situation; it’s surreal.

“Here we go,” Judy says, setting a glass of iced water on the breakfast nook. “This is the perfect place to sit. Gives you a perfect view of Quinn at work.”

Rachel’s eyes widen at the sound of that, and she makes sure not to look at Quinn as she moves away from her. If it wasn’t obvious before, it is now. Judy _must_ know about them, but Rachel is still here, so that must count for something, right?

Rachel moves around the breakfast nook and slips onto a stool. Judy’s at least right about this part: it gives her the perfect view of Quinn. This is probably where she sets up her camera, and Rachel is essentially watching a live video.

With Judy sitting beside her.

Rachel remains perfectly still, her eyes tracking Quinn’s movements around her most comfortable place in the world. On Thursday night, she got to eat Quinn’s food, but now she gets to watch Quinn cook as well as eat what she prepares. This is the greatest day of her life.

Judy taps her hand when she’s lost herself staring at the muscles in Quinn’s forearms, and she has to pry her eyes away.

She blushes slightly, but smiles at the older woman.

“Quinn was telling me you’re here in New York for some kind of singing competition,” she says. “How did that go?”

Rachel winces at the memory. It feels like so long ago, even though it’s been only a couple of hours. “Not as well as I was hoping,” she says. “It actually went terribly, to be honest.”

“Her teammate totally ruined all their chances,” Quinn says from behind the island, where she’s kneading some stiff dough. She meets Rachel’s eyes, silently questioning whether she can divulge further.

Rachel does it for her. “He kind of kissed me while we were on stage,” she says, and Judy gasps. “He’s my ex-boyfriend, and he just can’t seem to accept that I don’t want him back.”

Judy frowns slightly, looking momentarily confused. She probably didn’t expect Rachel to have had an ex-boyfriend. Eventually, she nods in understanding. “Well, I’m sorry that happened to you,” she says, and her fingers curl around Rachel’s in silent support. “Have you spoken to him since?”

“Not exactly,” she says. “I wasn’t ready earlier, and then Quinn kind of whisked me away, but I think I’m calmer about the entire situation now.”

“Good,” she says. “You just let me know if you need me to have a word with him, okay? It’s untoward just going around kissing people when they’re resistive. And in front of a room of people, no less.” She shakes her head, clicking her tongue.

Rachel smiles appreciatively. “Thank you, Mrs Fabray, but I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“Call me Judy, dear.”

Rachel blushes.

“I’ve already got Noah on standby to knock the shit out of him,” Quinn says happily from where she’s preparing her freshly-made pasta dough to rest.

“Quinn,” Judy reprimands, but she’s laughing. “Why wouldn’t you do it yourself?” she asks curiously. “I would think you’d want to defend Rachel’s honour.”

Quinn freezes. “Mom?”

Judy looks at Rachel. “Did she say something about her hands?” she asks, smiling.

Rachel audibly swallows, and then nods. “They’re her livelihood, apparently.”

“It’s her go-to excuse,” Judy says, shaking her head. “I can’t clean my room; my hands are too important. I can’t help with trimming the Christmas tree; my hands are too delicate. Do you know she cried the first time her hands pruned in the bath?”

“Oh, my God, Mom,” Quinn whines, exchanging a nervous look with Rachel. What is happening?

Judy suddenly turns to Rachel. “I’m being so rude,” she says; “how would you like a tour of the loft? We can leave Quinn to work her magic.”

Rachel forces herself not to cast a panicked look at Quinn, her own head nodding without her consent. It’s fine. It’s going to be fine. She slips off her stool, smiles as encouragingly at Quinn’s wide eyes as she can, and then follows Judy out of the kitchen.

It really is a tour. It’s brief, Judy just pointing out rooms... until they get to what Rachel recognises as Russell Fabray’s study. Judy comes to a stop at a gorgeous, white baby grand piano and absently leans her hip against it.

“Quinn loves to play,” Judy says, running her forefinger over the polished wood.

Rachel stands perfectly still, the open door at her back, in case she has to make a quick escape.

“Almost as much as she loves to cook.”

Rachel waits patiently.

“I never thought I would encounter anything she loves more than either of those two things combined.”

Rachel stops breathing, and Judy allows the silence to go on. The older woman has opened the door, and it’s Rachel’s choice whether she’s going to walk through.

Eventually, the teenager sighs. “You know,” she states, rather than asks.

Judy nods. “I’ve known for a while,” she confirms. “Since before you were ever in the picture.” She smiles softly. “It’s hard not to notice when you actually pay attention, but she’s been less focused on hiding it recently.”

Rachel nods. “She’s really been thinking about telling you,” she says softly. “She’s just... scared.”

Judy looks as if she understands. “My therapist says it’s important to let her know she’s safe to come out; that we won’t react poorly. I’ve been trying to drop hints, but she just seems to be panicking about it even more. I don’t think I’ve seen her eyes get that wide before.”

Rachel’s smile is small but present.

“I try not to think about how different our lives would be if we still lived in Ohio,” Judy continues, sounding almost wistful. “Quinn doesn’t know this, but I wasn’t at all... happy there, and New York proved to be the very thing that saved me and this family.” Her voice is low, indicative that she’s telling a secret. “Being in the city has allowed Quinn to blossom in a healthy way, and I’m much happier here. So is Russell, though you can’t usually tell because his default setting is grumpy.”

Rachel’s smile grows.

“We’ve all seen things, and we’ve all grown, and my husband and I have spent many a night working our heads around this truth about our daughter. I want her to be able to talk to us about this, but I understand the last thing we should do is force it out of her.”

Rachel nods, because that would be the worst thing to do. “Wait,” she says, a sudden thought coming to mind. “If you’ve known all along, what was... Scott about?”

Judy winces, dropping her gaze. “In my defence, that was Frannie’s idea,” she says. “She thought it might prompt Quinn into action, as it were, but it just made her miserable.”

Here, Rachel can’t exactly keep the guilt off her face. “That might have been my fault,” she says. “I didn’t really handle myself well, and I might have been a little... distant with her.”

“Ah.”

“If it makes you feel better, Frannie’s plan worked.”

Judy blinks. “It did?”

“For me, at least,” she says, smiling softly. Then, her eyes hardening, she says, “But, he was an ass, wasn’t he?”

Judy nods. “It was an ill-fated idea, but I’m glad some good came out of it.”

Rachel nods, satisfied.

“Do - do your parents know?” Judy asks, sounding uncertain. “About you?”

“They do,” she confirms. “I told them last year.”

Judy bites her bottom lip. “I hope you don’t mind my asking these questions,” she says. “I just - I want to do all I can to understand.”

“It’s okay,” Rachel assures her. “I don’t mind talking about it.”

“Have you always known?” Judy asks.

“No.” It’s the truth. She’s convinced she liked the boys she dated, but none of it felt like it does with Quinn. “I dated boys before, but I think I could always tell it was temporary.” She blushes brightly. “Quinn’s actually the one who helped me confirm it all.”

Judy raises her eyebrows.

“I had the biggest crush on her,” Rachel admits. “Like, massive. Huge. Gigantic. I still do, sometimes.”

Judy smiles.

“For so long, I couldn’t tell anyone,” she continues. “I knew my parents would be okay with it, but there’s just something about this kind of life-changing truth that makes everything about life and love... heavier. Does that make sense?

Judy nods. “It does.” She breathes out. “And, your parents are... okay?”

“They are,” she says. “They’re worried, of course, because not a lot of people understand this, and they can be cruel about it. It’s not going to be easy, but they want me to be happy.”

“And, are you? Happy?”

“Most days, yes,” she says. “School is hard, but it’s getting better. Quinn makes everything better.”

“You love her.”

“Very much.”

They descend into silence, and the severity of their conversation seems to bleed right out of the air. Rachel feels slightly more settled, and she lets out a laugh.

Judy raises questioning eyebrows.

“How much do you think Quinn is freaking out right now?”

Judy half laughs. “Dinner’s probably done. She’s a stress-cooker.”

“Cute.”

“She can be, sometimes.”

Rachel licks her lips, steeling herself for her next words. “She’ll tell you,” she says. “She will. Just, be patient. It’s one of the hardest things she’ll ever have to do; especially if she’s terrified of the aftermath. I _knew_ , without a doubt, my parents would be okay with it, and it still proved to be one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done.”

Judy nods. “I just want her to be happy.”

“Well, then, I’m glad to hear we want the same thing.”


	6. Chapter 6

**VI**

 

Rachel returns to the kitchen herself, because Judy goes to call Russell and find out if he’s on his way home.

Dinner is practically ready. Quinn has even laid out the crockery and cutlery to be taken to the dining room table. It smells so good.

Quinn _looks_ so good.

She’s fidgeting where she stands with her back to Rachel, and she crosses the kitchen towards her in silence. She has dreams of moments like these, Quinn in a future kitchen that’s _theirs_ , and Rachel coming home to exactly this scene.

Right here.

She snakes her arms around Quinn’s waist from behind, startling her. “I love you,” she immediately says, easing Quinn’s panic. “I love you.”

Quinn relaxes into the embrace. “Did she pull out the photo albums or something?” she asks. “You were gone for so long.”

Rachel just hums, burying her face between Quinn’s shoulder-blades. Her arms tighten around Quinn’s waist, enjoying the physical presence of her.

“Are you hungry?” Quinn asks.

“For you.”

Quinn chuckles softly, squirming a little and turning around in Rachel’s arms to hug her properly. She presses a kiss to the crown of her head, sighing in content.

Rachel didn’t think a hug could feel this good. It’s almost unheard of the way her body feels like complete putty pressed against Quinn’s like this. If she had her way, she would probably hug Quinn for the rest of her life.

“Where’s my mom?” Quinn asks, shifting back as she loosens her hold on Rachel.

“On the phone.”

“Could be a while, then.”

Rachel hums, and then squeaks when Quinn suddenly kisses her, slow and gentle. She tastes a little like tomatoes and some kind of chilli, and Rachel just wants more.

Quinn lets out an amused breath, pulling back and looking her in the eye. “Did anyone see your hickey?”

Rachel rolls her eyes. “Just Kurt,” she says. “I wore a scarf yesterday morning, and then we got caught in the wind, and he saw it. It’s dark, Quinn. And huge. What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t, as you recall,” she says. “Most coherent thinking seems to fail me whenever I’m kissing you.”

“I’m guessing I should be flattered,” she says.

“Indeed,” Quinn confirms, and then kisses her again. In her mind, she knows they shouldn’t be doing this so out in the open like this, because her mother is walking around somewhere, but she honestly can’t bring herself to care in this moment. She needs to kiss Rachel. There’s nothing more to it.

They break apart when they hear a door close, and then reluctantly step away from each other.

“That should be my dad,” Quinn says, turning and opening one of the drawers to retrieve a serving spoon. “Wanna go say hi?”

“Am I allowed to say no?”

Quinn laughs softly, absently switching off all the burners on the stove. “He’ll just come in here, so you’d better prepare yourself.”

Rachel, inexplicably, begins to panic. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Impossible.”

“Quinn, I’m being serious.”

Quinn just smiles at her, leaning forward and kissing her cheek. “So am I.”

“I need him to like me,” she says. “What if I have to ask for his blessing to marry you and he says no because I’m too annoying or something?”

Quinn just stares at her, her mouth hanging open.

“Oh, my God,” she says, looking mortified. “Did I seriously just ask that out loud?”

And, Quinn laughs. Loudly. Her eyes crease at the sides, and she looks so deliriously happy. “You,” she whispers. “You are so special. I am so in love with you.”

Rachel tries to get her blush under control in time for Judy to enter the kitchen, followed closely by a man Rachel recognises as Quinn’s father, Russell Fabray. He’s taller than she thought he’d be, with hard eyes and perfectly coiffed blonde hair.

When he smiles, so does his entire being, and Rachel thinks she gets it. There’s a certain heaviness to his presence, but it shifts completely when he allows himself to show his own happiness.

And, he’s doing that right now.

It feels stranger for Rachel, because she knows he knows she’s more than just Quinn’s best friend, and the two of them exchange a look when that’s the way Quinn introduces her.

“The future Broadway star,” he says.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir,” Rachel says, automatic in her politeness.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he says.

“Dad, don’t be creepy,” Quinn says, stepping between them. “I made vegan spaghetti with spicy tomato cream sauce for dinner. Don’t worry, though, you’ll be allowed to have real cheese.”

“No, no,” he says, shaking his head. “Rachel is our guest, so we’re all going to have the vegan substitute with her.”

“Oh, no,” Rachel immediately says; “you really don’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense,” Russell dismisses.

“It’s gross, Dad,” Quinn says, and then winces in Rachel’s direction. “Sorry, but it is.”

Russell waves them both off. “Let’s at least give it a try,” he says, sounding certain.

Which is a stance that wavers nearly ten minutes later when they’re seated at the dining room table and he gets a first taste of the cheese substitute - or nutritional yeast meant to mimic something like Parmesan.

Quinn bursts out laughing at the look on his face, Judy looks deathly amused, and Rachel tries to keep her own giggles quiet.

Saying nothing, Quinn slides over the bowl of grated real Parmesan cheese, and nobody comments any further, but the general amusement doesn’t dissipate.

It feels comfortable, natural, and Rachel thinks it has a bit to do with the fact she’s watched all these people in Quinn’s videos, and she’s had thoughts that she actually knows them.

Well, now she does.

She’s getting to, at least.

But, Russell and Judy seem to be more interested in her, anyway.

“So, for how long are you in New York?” Russell asks.

Rachel swallows the mouthful of food in her mouth and then says, “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

“We have to get back to school,” she says.

Russell looks perturbed. “Well, that’s unfortunate,” he says. “I wasn’t much of a fan of school, myself.”

“Didn’t you go to Law School, Sir?” she asks, because that’s a hell of a lot of school for someone who didn’t enjoy it.

“I did,” he says. “I hated every second of it.”

Rachel can’t keep the surprise off her face. “Didn’t you want to be a lawyer?”

“Goodness, no,” he says. “I wanted to be a teacher. High school English.” He shakes his head at himself. “It’s silly, isn’t it?”

“No, Sir,” she says. “My Dad teaches. Well, he lectures at the Ohio State campus in Lima. Surprisingly, in Classic Literature. English.”

Russell looks intrigued. “I’ve always admired educators,” he says. “It’s passionate, sometimes unacknowledged work.”

Rachel nods, understanding that.

“What does your mother do?”

Quinn freezes, and Rachel’s gaze drops to her plate. “Well, uh, technically, I don’t have a mother,” she starts, _feeling_ the frowns that settle on Russell and Judy’s faces. “I have a biological mother, obviously, but I actually have two fathers.”

There’s the longest beat of silence, and then Russell clears his throat. “So, what does your other father do?”

Rachel looks up, surprised, and she sees the unconcealed acceptance in his eyes. “Oh, um, he’s a surgeon,” she says.

“Quite the accomplished family you come from there,” Russell says. “Quinn says you want to perform on Broadway?”

“That’s the dream, yes,” Rachel says, smiling. “I want to study musical theatre.”

“In New York?”

Rachel nods, just accepting that this is some kind of interrogation. “The intention is to attend the New York Academy Of Dramatic Arts for their Musical Theatre program,” she says, trying to sound certain. “Or, of course, NYU’s Tisch.”

“Not Juilliard?” he asks. “Because I’m still trying to get Quinn here to write up to her Grade Eight, so we can have a concert pianist in the family, but all she does is complain that her oh-so-precious hands wouldn’t be able to handle the endless hours of practice.”

Quinn chucks her napkin at him, which he catches and immediately hands back to her.

Rachel smiles softly. “They don’t have a Musical Theatre degree, unfortunately,” she says. “I would be going for only my voice, or only my acting and I really want to cultivate all of my talents, including dancing.”

“I’ve had the pleasure of seeing some of your videos, and I have to say you’re incredibly talented,” he says. “It’s easy to see why Quinn has grown so enamoured with you.”

The table falls to silence.

Russell just continues eating, chewing softly. Eventually, he looks at Judy, whose own gaze is on Quinn. “Earl said that Martha and the kids are out of town for the weekend, and he was wondering if I would be available to watch the game with him tomorrow.”

Judy very purposefully drags her eyes away from Quinn, who is turning red right before their eyes. “Honey, are you asking my permission?”

“No,” he says. “Yes. Well, I’m kind of hoping you’ll say no. Earl is terrible to watch games with. It’s torture.”

The attempt to alleviate the heaviness in the atmosphere falls flat, because Quinn still looks as if she’s been caught doing something abhorrent. It breaks Russell’s heart to see how terrified she looks, and he wishes he could take his words back.

But, then, Quinn is speaking, and she sounds so much like a child that all he wants to do is wrap his arms around her and assure her everything is going to be okay.

“You know, don’t you?”

The silence that follows is long, Judy breaking it some three minutes later.

“We do, Sweetheart.”

“Oh.”

They finish the rest of the meal in complete silence.

 

* * *

 

It’s later, when they’re sitting in the living room, that Quinn brings it up again. She’s sitting with Rachel on the couch, decidedly not touching, and she’s looking across at her parents, who are both in their own armchairs.

“How long have you known?” Quinn asks, and she can’t quite meet either of their gazes.

“A while.”

Quinn audibly swallows. “You never said anything.”

“We were waiting on you, Honey.”

Quinn clenches her jaw. “But, you’ve known this whole time, and I’ve been driving myself crazy thinking you’re going to end up hating me and want nothing to do with me, but - but - you’ve known this _entire time_.”

“It was advised that we not bring it up directly,” Judy says. “We wanted to wait until you were ready.”

Quinn tenses. “It was advised? By whom? God, who else knows?”

Judy’s eyes widen slightly. “My therapist, Quinn.”

“You talk about this in therapy?” she practically shrieks, and Rachel places a calming hand on her back, trying to soothe her. It seems to work, because she settles somewhat. “I’m sorry. Shit, I just - this is - I figure I just thought you would freak out if ever you knew, but... you’re... not, and I really don’t know what to make of it.” She breathes out. “Why - why are you so okay?”

“We’ve had some time to wrap our heads around it.”

Quinn licks her lips. “And, you’re okay? I mean, you don’t hate me, do you?” Her voice is barely a whisper. “Think there’s something wrong with me? That I’m going to burn in Hell?”

Judy gets to her feet, crosses the short space between them and drops onto the couch on Quinn’s free side. “Sweetheart, no,” she says. “No. None of that. Of course, we don’t hate you. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect, just the way you are.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Quinn whispers, sounding so uncertain and disbelieving that it breaks all their hearts.

“Maybe we’ve gone about this all wrong,” Judy says; “but just know that we know, and nothing has changed.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because I love you, no matter what,” Judy says. “I just want you to be happy, exactly who you are.” Her eyes are filled with tears as she pulls Quinn into a hug, her arms wrapping around the trembling form of her daughter. “Please don’t try to be what you’re not, because I love you, Quinn. I do. That’ll never change.”

Quinn buries her face in her mother’s neck, and Rachel feels her heart break and then stitch back together at the sight.

Slowly, Russell also gets to his feet, and moves to sit on the edge of the coffee table in front of his wife and daughter. It takes a while for the impromptu embrace to end, but he doesn’t rush them.

Quinn looks at him then, looking so much like a traumatised puppy awaiting punishment.

“Oh, Quinn,” Russell breathes. “Please, please know that you are safe here. You are safe and loved here with us, okay?”

Quinn nods once, but her body doesn’t seem to relax at all.

“I love you, no matter what,” Russell says, blinking repeatedly. “We’ve- we’ve had some time to come to terms with this and, while I’ll admit I wasn’t... on board in the beginning, I’ve...” he trails off, looking away from her to compose himself. He takes a deep breath. “I know I haven’t given you much reason to believe me when I say this, but I’ve come to accept it, Quinn. I accept you.” He glances at Judy, as if he’s confirming he’s saying the correct thing here.

Quinn just watches him with wide, tear-filled eyes, and Rachel resists the urge to touch her in some way again. This moment is about Quinn and her parents.

Russell clears his throat. “You know about James Fielding at work,” he says, sounding somber. “I’ve - I’ve been less than kind about him in the past, but I - “ he stops, swallowing audibly. “I talked to him,” he says. “He was very helpful, and understanding, and I think he has to be the most patient man to have put up with all my ridiculous questions about his own experience.”

Judy places a hand on his shoulder, rubbing a soft circle.

Russell taps Quinn’s knee with his forefinger. “He said that these are the words you would probably want to hear,” he says. “I love you. This changes nothing about how I feel about you. I’ll still worry about you and wish the world would be kinder. I’m still going to want you to marry someone who will treat you the way my daughter deserves, and I definitely still want grandchildren.”

Quinn lets out a sob that sounds more amused than anything.

Russell nods. “I love you,” he says again, and it’s probably the most times he’s said it in forever. “You are my daughter, and I want you to be happy. Lucy, Quinn, gay, straight, struggling chef or superstar celebrity; I just want you to be happy.” He leans back slightly. “And, really, between you and your sister, you’ve managed to find the far superior partner, so you might actually be the one who has it all figured out.”

Rachel can’t help her giggle, and three sets of some shade of green eyes turn to look at her. Her own eyes widen, and she shifts back, blushing.

Quinn half laughs, and then launches herself at her father, wrapping her arms around his strong neck. Judy claps her hands together, looking overwhelmed by everything she’s just witnessed - she’s not the only one - and then buries them both in a hug.

It’s a beautiful sight, and Rachel is so glad that Quinn gets this. She deserves this, and so much more.

Quinn eventually lets out a laugh as she pulls out of the embrace. “Wow,” she says. “This is so not what I was expecting to come out of this evening.”

“What were you expecting?” Russell asks, and he sounds oddly emotional.

“I just wanted you to get to know Rachel,” Quinn says, and then turns to the brunette. She holds out her hand, which Rachel immediately takes. “I wanted you to know her as my best friend, but - “ she stops, a wonder-filled smile spreading across her face. “But, now, you can get to know her as my girlfriend.” She suddenly looks panicked, as if she’s pushed them too far, but Russell just holds out his hand for Rachel to shake.

Rachel immediately obliges.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says. “What did you say your name was again?”

Rachel can’t help her smile. “Rachel,” she says. “Rachel Berry.”

Russell opens his mouth to say something else, but their collective attention is drawn to the front door as keys jiggle, and then the door swings open to reveal Frannie Fabray.

She looks surprised to see them all sitting there, and she freezes in the doorway.

Quinn recovers first, jumping slightly, and then gets to her feet. She lifts her arms, waving Frannie inside. “You’re just in time for dessert, Fran,” she says. “We’re having black bean brownies and banana ice cream. Because Rachel’s vegan. Oh, by the way, this is Rachel. Rachel, meet my sister, Frannie. Come inside. Close the door. We’re just having a moment here.” She sucks in a breath that’s followed by the sound of the front door clicking closed. “Oh, and, by the way, did mom and dad tell you? I’m gay.”

Frannie’s eyes widen, and she looks at Judy. “Oh, my God, did she seriously just come out and I missed it?”

 

* * *

 

Rachel accompanies Russell to the kitchen to ready their dessert, leaving Quinn, Frannie and Judy to talk in private. She’s, predictably, a little nervous about it, because it’s really been about Quinn, but it’s also about Rachel.

“Are - are you okay?” Russell asks, looking slightly unsure. “I’m sure that wasn’t easy, and I’m sorry if...” he trails off.

“I’m fine,” Rachel says. “Really, I am. I’m actually really happy right now. A little overwhelmed, but so happy.”

Russell just smiles as he moves to retrieve bowls from a high cabinet. “Do you think she’s going to be okay?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He seems surprised by the hastiness of her reply, but there’s a certainty in her gaze that’s unmistakable. He really has no choice but to believe her and, one glance at Quinn’s smile when he and Rachel return to the living room seven minutes later merely proves it.

The difference in Quinn is so clear. It’s been immediate, and he can only imagine how difficult it’s been keeping all of it inside. She looks lighter now, less burdened in some way, and the happy, genuine smile she sends Rachel’s way melts his cold, dead heart. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen that look on her face before.

Quinn looks at him, raising her eyebrows at the way he’s just standing and watching his precious family. “Dad?” she questions softly. “Come sit. Frannie’s telling us about Simon’s friend who almost set himself on fire at dinner.”

Russell chuckles lowly, and then moves to resume his seat in his vacated armchair. “And, how on earth did he manage to do that?” he asks, but he’s sure he doesn’t hear a single word Frannie ends up saying.

For the most part, he was unsure how he would actually react to the sight of Quinn so obviously _with_ another girl. He knows he’s reacting differently to the way he would if there was a boy currently in his home, but he’s unable to focus on that, because Quinn’s smile is so easy, and she keeps glancing at Rachel in pure wonder, as if she still can't believe any of this is happening.

He wants to take a snapshot of this moment, save it for years from now, when his daughter has become the best version of herself, and be able to look back on this moment and know, without a doubt, that he’s made all the correct decisions.

It won’t be easy, but she’s happy, and he’s convinced that’s all that’s going to matter.

 

* * *

 

If she’s being honest, Rachel feels as if she’s been in Quinn’s bedroom before. It’s so much like what she’s seen in the videos and over _Skype_ , except now she can run her fingers over the wood of Quinn’s desk, touch the spines of her many books and feel the smoothness of her duvet cover.

She can smell Quinn.

The girl is standing right in front of her.

“So.”

Rachel smiles, stepping into Quinn’s personal space. “So.”

“That just happened.”

“It did.”

“I have half a mind to ask you to pinch me, but I’m not sure I’m ready for this dream to end, if it is one.”

“It’s not,” Rachel assures her, lifting her right hand to cup Quinn’s soft cheek. “It’s not a dream, Quinn. It’s real.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she says. “I don’t know if I would have been able to get through any of this without you.”

Before Rachel can respond, there’s a quick knock on the door, and the two girls have just enough time to separate before Judy is popping her head inside.

“Well, we’re off to bed,” Judy says, smiling gently. “Quinn, make sure to put the food away before you go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay, Mom,” Quinn says, moving towards the door to hug her. “I love you. Goodnight.”

Rachel also gets a hug of her own, coupled with a _sleep tight_ \- as if she’s actually staying - and then Judy leaves them alone in Quinn’s bedroom.

Alone.

With her girlfriend.

Quinn just smiles, and then asks, “Want to watch a movie?”

Rachel says yes, even though they both knew that’s definitely not what they’re going to be doing. The fact that Quinn locks her bedroom door merely proves that.

It’s odd, Rachel thinks, that she doesn’t feel at all nervous now. She just kicks off her shoes and moves to sit on Quinn’s bed, leaning against her pillows and embracing the comfort beneath her body.

Quinn moves around the room with ease, slowly putting in the movie _101 Dalmatians_ , which is apparently one of her favourites, and then coming to sit at Rachel’s hip after she’s switched off the overhead light.

“Are you okay?” Quinn asks softly.

“I’m perfect,” Rachel assures her. “Are you?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around everything that’s happened today, but, yes, I think I’m okay,” she confesses. “It’s overwhelming, and I don’t know if I should be worried about how well it’s all actually going.”

“Don’t be,” Rachel murmurs, her fingers reaching out to touch Quinn’s cheek again. She just wants to touch. She traces the pale skin, almost inviting her closer. “Enjoy it. Embrace it. Not everyone gets this, you know?”

“I know.”

“Believe it,” Rachel says. “Please, please believe it.”

Quinn glances at the framed picture of the two of them on her nightstand, and feels something settle in her gut that’s both pleasant and uncomfortable. There’s no coming back from this. It’s out there now. Her parents know.

All the important people in her life know she’s gay - err, she still needs to talk to Kayla, but she'll worry about that later - and that she loves Rachel Berry.

It’s as real as it’s ever been.

When the truth of that hits her, Quinn laughs softly, and all Rachel can do is stare at her. She actually marvels at the fact that she’s currently lying on Quinn’s bed, with Quinn right there, looking at her as if the entire world doesn’t even exist apart from her.

“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” Rachel finds herself asking, because she still can’t believe this relationship and this love is actually happening.

Quinn lets out another little laugh, her face breaking into a happy grin that’s so wide that her pupils are barely visible. She doesn’t need to reply, they both know, but she still nods and then leans forward to meet Rachel’s lips with her own.

Rachel automatically falls even further back against Quinn’s pillows, feeling Quinn shift onto her knees on the bed and move to press Rachel’s body against the comforter. Quinn’s hands trail up her sides, along her throat and come to rest on her cheeks. The feeling of the warm skin beneath her fingers makes Quinn groan deep in her chest, and she suddenly has to be kissing her harder.

Her lips pick up pace, her tongue darting out and twirling around Rachel’s. She’s practically pliable beneath Quinn, their bodies pressed together so delightfully that it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other starts.

Rachel slides her own hands down Quinn’s body, bravely cupping her firmly around the back pockets of her jeans and pulling her even closer. As Quinn presses harder against her, she lets herself slide further down until she’s lying flat on the bed.

Quinn’s warmth and weight cover her, keeping her in place; anchoring her. The thought brings a smile to her face, and her lips curl against Quinn’s, as she hooks her fingers through the belt loops of Quinn’s jeans.

Quinn’s hands trail back down her body, finding the bottom hem of her shirt. She hesitates, as if asking for permission, which Rachel gives with a soft tug at Quinn’s bottom lip. Quinn pulls on the fabric immediately, lifting it up and away from Rachel’s body, tossing it somewhere on the floor beside the bed.

Quinn kisses her lips for a few seconds, before they go exploring, trailing along her hard jaw, and burying them against her neck, sucking at her skin as if it’s her lifeblood. She drags her front teeth across Rachel’s pulse point, and only digs them in fully when she feels the piercing sensation of Rachel’s fingernails raking down her lower back. She’s aware of the hickey she left there just two days ago, and she’s determined to leave another one, darker and larger.

Rachel Berry is going to leave this city with Quinn Fabray all over her.

Rachel thinks the only reason they’re even going this far is because they have no idea when they’re going to see each other again. It’s what she’s thinking when her legs bend and wind around Quinn’s waist, holding her tightly against her own body.

Quinn sighs against Rachel’s throat, impossibly warm against tanned skin. Rachel’s back arches involuntarily when Quinn’s lips trail further down her throat, reaching the edge of her collarbone and dipping her tongue into the adjacent hollow.

Rachel gasps at the sensation, and Quinn smiles against her skin. She reaches behind her, tightening the grip on the legs that are currently wrapped around her hips, before returning her fingers to the sides of Rachel’s perfect body.

Skin.

Quinn drags her nails in a slow line down the bare flesh of Rachel’s abdomen, tracing the crests and troughs of her ribcage. With every drop, Rachel practically whimpers, feeling Quinn’s nails as if they’re blades cutting a path through her skin. She has the crazy thought that she wants them to be able to leave a mark; she wants them to hurt.

She wants to feel as much of Quinn as possible; to know that she’s really here - that she’s truly hers and hers alone.

Rachel’s eyes open when she feels her legs beginning to straighten out, following the downward movement of Quinn’s body. She’s moving backwards, dragging her tongue down the valley between Rachel’s breasts, and the brunette moans softly, her fingers losing contact with the fabric of Quinn’s shirt. Her hands rather find purchase on the comforter at her sides, fisting the duvet cover as her heart threatens to launch right out of her chest.

A chest that Quinn is nipping at, paying tribute to every inch of exposed skin, her own body shivering with every whimper that escapes from Rachel’s perfect, kiss-swollen lips. Quinn’s mouth moves further down, dragging the flat of her tongue along the midline of Rachel’s abdominal muscles, which does wonders for Rachel’s staccato breathing.

Quinn shifts her attention to Rachel’s ribcage again, letting her tongue graze over the protruding bars that become more pronounced with every exhale. Rachel moans, throwing her head back, and Quinn smirks against her skin, teeth nipping softly.

Quinn can feel Rachel’s heartbeat thundering beneath her lips, and she marvels at how it seems to match her own. Everything about this day and this moment has been amazing, and she’s just so happy.

Sighing to herself, she buries her face against Rachel's stomach and lets her mouth trace the small waves between the edge of Rachel’s bra-clad breasts to her navel. When she reaches the bottom rung of this delicious ladder, she has a wicked thought and bites down as hard as she possibly can.

Rachel groans loudly, her fingers abandoning the duvet and rather burying themselves in Quinn’s hair as her body arches. Quinn soothes the bite with her tongue, thoroughly pleased with herself that it’s definitely going to leave a mark. She presses a line of kisses along the lowest ridge, which prompts Rachel to tighten her legs around her body, absently rolling her hips forwards.

Quinn feels it and, frankly, she has no idea what’s supposed to happen next. Well, from research, she _does_ know, obviously, but Rachel’s hips are rolling in search of something, and the one thing Quinn knows to do is press her own body firmer against Rachel’s.

Rachel whimpers in response, bunching her fists amongst Quinn’s blonde strands and pulling hard in an attempt to drag her back upwards to meet her lips again.

No such luck.

Quinn just props herself up onto her elbows, and smiles slyly at her, her eyes dark.

“What?” Rachel pants through a groan at the lack of contact. She shakes her head to try to clear it, registering the amused glint in Quinn’s eyes.

“I was just wondering if it was your intention to seduce me tonight.”

Rachel blushes brightly, and then braves asking, “Why? Would I succeed?”

“My body is saying yes, but my heart and mind are saying no,” she says. “I love you. I love you so much, but I think it’ll be in both our best interests not to go further than this. Not yet.”

Rachel can’t tell if she’s disappointed or not, but she still finds herself agreeing with Quinn’s assessment. They’re together. They love each other. It doesn’t matter that they don’t know when next they’ll see each other. That shouldn’t be an excuse to do something they can’t realistically say they’re both ready for.

Rachel trails a single finger up the front of Quinn’s throat, quietly relishing in the blonde’s shiver. “Okay,” she says.

“Okay,” Quinn confirms.

“But - “

Quinn’s brow furrows. “What?”

Rachel’s breath catches as she accepts this is now life. This girl is her everyday life, and she wouldn’t change a thing. She loves Quinn, and she wants to show her.

Bracing one of her legs on the mattress, Rachel suddenly twists her body around, flipping them over until she’s on top of Quinn, pinning her in place. She immediately crushes her lips to Quinn’s, feeling the blonde’s arms automatically slide around her neck and tug her closer, their mouths moving together in a dance of tongues, teeth and sighs.

Rachel edges her fingers under Quinn’s shirt, trailing her fingertips upwards until Quinn physically shudders. She uses the reaction to remove the shirt Quinn is wearing, not bothering to work on the buttons, and rather just tugging it up over her arms.

She can’t stand waiting.

She has to see her.

For a moment, Rachel does nothing more than stare at the smooth, white flesh in front of her, registering the thudding pulse in her pale neck, her heaving chest and the skin dotted with sporadic freckles. Her heart swells at the sight, her stomach dropping simultaneously.

Rachel bends forward, pressing a kiss against the soft skin of Quinn’s throat, her eyes automatically falling closed.

“I love you,” she murmurs, kissing her again when she feels the pulse under her lips quicken. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Quinn’s hands trail up her back, digging into the dip of her spine and easing her upwards. Their mouths meet again, kissing slowly and fully and with such purpose. It’s as if she’s trying to tell her something very important, the words _I love you_ continually escaping her lips.

It feels as if she’s making up for all the weeks she won’t be able to say them to Quinn’s face.

Quinn pulls away after a moment, reaching out to hold Rachel’s face between her hands. She looks up at her, at her rapidly-moving chest and her chestnut eyes. She can’t explain it, but she’s certain she falls in love with her all over again.

“I love you, too,” she whispers, simple and true.

Rachel’s face splits into a smile, and then she’s kissing Quinn again.

Both of them can feel the other’s thundering heartbeat against her own chest, and it’s difficult to tell them apart.

Rachel allows herself to think they’re beating in sync, one beating for the other and vice versa.

 

* * *

 

It’s the sound of Rachel’s phone ringing that brings them both out of the intoxicating haze of being so wrapped up in each other, and Rachel has to push gently on Quinn’s shoulders - somehow, she had them switch positions again - to get her to ease up enough to be able to reach for the device on Quinn’s nightstand.

“Shit,” she suddenly says. “Is that the time?” She pushes at Quinn with a lot more purpose as she sits up properly and brings her phone into her lap.

Quinn’s eyes are adorably unfocused as she also shifts into a sitting position, her skin practically shining in the dim light.

“It’s Kurt calling,” Rachel manages to say, forcing herself not to sound as if Quinn has been stealing the air from her lungs for the past hour. “Hello,” she answers.

“Rachel!” Kurt practically screams in her ear. “Where are you? It’s almost eleven, and Mr Schuester has been freaking out. Are you okay?”

“I’m perfect,” she finds herself saying, and she can’t stop herself from sounding so desperately in love. “I’m sorry. We just lost track of time. Am I the only person missing?”

Kurt snorts. “No,” he says. “Finn, Matt and Sam have been out for hours, and nobody can get a hold of them. I think Mr Schuester’s relieved to know you aren’t dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“Nope,” she says. “Perfectly healthy, I am.”

“You sound drunk.”

“On love.”

He laughs. “That good, huh?”

“She’s wonderful, Kurt,” she almost sings, fully aware that Quinn is sitting at her side and grinning like a smug idiot. “Amazing, really.”

Kurt hums. “So, uh, does that mean you’re not coming back to the hotel?”

Rachel glances at Quinn’s face, noting the pure adoration that she isn’t bothering to hide. The answer comes simply to her then, and she asks Kurt to put Mr Schuester on the line.

It’s a quick conversation. She apologises for losing track of time, of course, and then explains that she actually has family in New York, and, seeing as it’s so late, it doesn’t make sense to brave the night when she has a perfectly safe place to spend the night.

It helps that Mr Schuester trusts her, because he gives in easily, probably more concerned with what craziness the boys are probably getting up to.

When she finally hangs up, her gaze hesitantly meets Quinn’s. “So, I just invited myself to stay the night. I hope that’s okay.”

Quinn grins at her. “You’ll hear no protests from me,” she murmurs, and then proceeds to kiss her until she passes out.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Rachel showers and slips on some of Quinn’s clothes. They fit loosely on her frame, but they smell like her, and Quinn has to know she’s never getting them back.

Ever.

If she wants them back, she’s going to have to come and fetch them from Lima herself. It’s as simple as that.

Everything about the morning has been simple. And perfect, and so heartbreaking. She doesn’t want any of it to end, but she’s expected back at the hotel early, and Quinn and her parents are going to church.

Still, Rachel embraces all the good feelings of waking up in Quinn’s arms, her soft breath tickling her neck. Of watching as Quinn’s eyes flutter open and a lazy smile spreads across her gorgeous face. Of feeling her hands exploring tanned skin and soft lips on her bare shoulders. Of hearing Quinn hum in her ear and whisper sweet morning wishes.

Of _Quinn_.

Every second she spends with Quinn is like a lesson on what it’s like to be in love.

“Time to get up,” Quinn murmurs, her breath warm against the delicate skin of Rachel’s neck.

Rachel allows herself a few more minutes of this pure bliss, before she forces herself to face the day. It’s going to be a long one and, by the end of it, she’s going to be almost six hundred miles away from Quinn once again.

Quinn showers first, quickly, and then takes clothes out for Rachel when she’s in the shower. They share quick kisses here and there, and Rachel can feel the desperation surrounding her impending departure start to creep into their interactions.

Quinn won’t stop touching her. Even when she’s in the kitchen making breakfast, she keeps Rachel close to her, her hands reaching out every few seconds, as if she’s just making sure she’s still there.

Rachel makes sure she is; always within touching distance.

Honestly, she thought it would be more awkward than it is, having breakfast with Quinn’s parents, after she and Quinn have spent the night in Quinn’s bedroom.

But, it’s not.

Rachel thinks they also recognise the unique situation they find themselves in. Rachel doesn’t live in New York. It’s going to be more than a year before she will be, and that’s a lot of teenage relationship to get through in separate states. They’re going to have to make the most of all the time they do have to spend together.

So, it’s not awkward. Russell casually asks her about her decision to become vegan, and the conversation flows from there. She’s aware of Quinn’s hand on her leg, as if it’s grounding them both, and it’s a relief having it there.

“Quinn,” Judy starts. “Sweetheart, your father and I have been thinking.”

Quinn looks at her, a little expectant.

“Of course, Rachel is always welcome to visit us over the summer,” she says. “We would love to have her.” She looks at Rachel. “We would love it,” she reiterates. “But, then, well, we also had another thought. We’re going to be in Europe for six weeks, and it might be nice for Rachel to join us for some of it.”

Quinn’s eyes widen. “Are you serious?”

Judy nods. “Maybe during our time in Italy,” she suggests. “Frannie and Simon would have returned to the States by then, so the two of you will be free to... be yourselves, essentially. Enjoy the Italian summer together.” She smiles winningly. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“Hell yes,” Quinn immediately says, and then glances at Rachel, who looks shell-shocked. “Rach?”

Rachel blinks a few times, her eyes darting between the parents. “Would you really be okay with that?”

“Of course, dear,” Judy says. “Really, it’s either that or Quinn is going to be dragging one or both of us to every pizzeria in sight.”

“Hey,” Quinn complains.

“You’d really be doing us a favour,” Russell adds, realising he needs to offer his verbal agreement.

Rachel presses her lips together. “I’ll have to check with my parents,” she says.

“But, if they say yes, you’ll come?” Quinn asks excitedly, practically dancing in her seat. “Oh, my God, I’ll get to show you all the coolest restaurants. We’re going to this place called Sorrento, and they have this cobbled street where - “

“Quinn, Honey,” Judy interrupts, and Quinn’s mouth snaps closed with an audible clack. “Let’s get a confirmation before you start making plans, okay?”

Quinn pouts for a moment, and then nods. “Okay.”

Rachel squeezes her hand, and then they go back to talking about... well, Rachel doesn’t know, because now she’s thinking about actually getting to be with Quinn in Italy.

It’s unheard of.

It’s insane.

But, it’s slowly becoming an option, and she’s going to discuss it with her fathers as soon as she gets home. She would get them on the phone right now, if she didn’t think it would be... a little eager.

But, she is.

Just the idea of spending any time with Quinn over the summer makes her a little giddy. Knowing she’s going to see her at all makes her anxiety about leaving ease up, somewhat. If she had her way, she would be back in New York the day after graduation, and she wouldn’t even be ashamed of it.

The same way she’s not ashamed of clinging to Quinn for a full five minutes before she’s supposed to leave. She accompanies the blonde to her bedroom, so they can both gather their things. Quinn packed her some baked snacks for the trip home, and she has a plastic packet for her own clothing.

“I feel like I should just be giving you things,” Quinn says, looking around her bedroom. “I just - I don’t want you to forget me or something ridiculous like that.”

Rachel smiles softly at her, reaching out with her hand to stop Quinn’s nervous pacing. “It’s okay,” she says. “I promise I’m not going to forget you.”

The sides of Quinn’s mouth quirk upwards. “This has been quite an exciting time you’ve had here in New York, huh?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Quinn moves until she’s standing right in front of Rachel. “I’m going to see you soon,” she says. “I’ll figure something out, okay? I'll even come visit you, if I have to.”

Rachel kisses her cheek. “As lovely as that idea sounds, I don’t think it’s particularly smart,” she says. “It’s less inconspicuous here in New York.”

“Well, you should see what it’ll be like in Italy, then,” Quinn murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss to Rachel’s lips.

Rachel beams at her. “Imagine that,” she says. “Just, imagine if it all works out.”

Quinn hums softly, and then wraps her arms around Rachel’s shoulders. Here, Rachel clings to her with all her might, fisting the fabric of Quinn’s sundress tightly and vowing never to let go.

She has to, eventually, and then she has to leave.

She’s not the only one fighting tears.

 

* * *

 

Kurt is waiting for her in the lobby when she arrives back at the hotel, and her steps falter at the sight of him. It’s as if she’s been living in this dreamworld where she gets to be with Quinn, and the sight of Kurt brings her back to reality.

She doesn’t get to be with Quinn, because she lives in Lima, while Quinn lives here.

Jesus.

Kurt gets to his feet when she approaches, and she looks a bit of a sorry sight, her bottom lip trembling as she practically drowns in what must be Quinn’s clothes.

“Well?” Kurt asks, looking at her expectantly.

Disastrously, the first thing Rachel does is blush. Brightly. “Kurt,” she whispers. And, then, she takes it to an entirely new level of complete ridiculousness by bursting into tears.

He’s suitably thrown by it, and he hesitates before pulling her into a hug. “Oh, God, what happened?” he asks, fearing the worst.

Rachel laughs wetly into his chest. “Nothing,” she mumbles against the fabric of his shirt. “I’m just - I’m just so happy, Kurt.”

Kurt blinks. “Then, why are you crying?” he asks, suitably stumped.

Rachel sighs, trying to get a hold of herself. “Because, _she’s_ where I’m my happiest, and she’s staying here.”

It’s a truth that hangs over all of them, and Kurt isn’t sure what to say to her, so he just hugs her closer, smooths a hand over her hair, and assures her that everything is going to be okay.

 

* * *

 

It’s difficult trying to adjust to being back in Lima.

If she thought talking to Quinn on _Skype_ was hard, then actually spending the night in Quinn’s warm arms and not knowing when she gets to do it again is pure torture.

When school lets out for the year, Rachel has even more time to miss Quinn, but it also allows her the opportunity to avoid Finn and his wounded, pleading eyes. She hates that he doesn’t seem to get it, and Kurt has been spending his days playing the buffer between them.

Rachel shudders to think about what her life would be like without Kurt. He’s her favourite part of Lima, apart from her fathers. She even gets to meet the elusive Blaine, who Kurt has been slowly working up the courage to ask out.

Rachel manages to psyche him up enough actually to do it during the third week of their summer, and he calls her in panicked excitement when Blaine ends up saying yes. She’s not surprised, of course, but he managed to convince himself Blaine wasn’t interested. Rachel had taken one look at them together and just known.

She thinks she can recognise love now.

When she gets off the phone with Kurt, she calls Quinn to let the blonde know the good news, but she gets her voicemail. It’s not wildly out of the ordinary, seeing as Quinn just got back from a bit of a book tour on the West Coast, where she also participated in a teenage version of the cooking show _Chopped_.

Quinn refuses to give her the results of the show, telling her to wait for it to air, but Rachel is impatient.

She also can’t help her disappointment at the unanswered call. She wants to hear Quinn’s voice, but a text will have to do, she supposes.

 **Rachel Berry** : _Guess who just scored himself a date with his actual crush? Hummel and Berry are 2-0 in that regard ;) I miss you. I love you_.

 **Rachel Berry** : _I really, really miss you_.

She can’t help the nervous flutter in her chest, which has been present for the duration of her entire relationship with Quinn. It amazes her that she hasn’t developed an actual heart anomaly at this point. She should probably see a doctor, regardless.

She’s still contemplating her health when her phone buzzes in her hand, Quinn’s name lighting up her screen.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _That’s amazing! We’re proud of our little Lady Hummel :*_

 **Quinn Fabray** : _I really, really miss you too_.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _So, I may or may not have a bit of a surprise for you. It’s kind of why I can’t talk right now_.

In the realm of possibilities, Rachel has absolutely no idea what to expect of this supposed surprise. Knowing Quinn, it could be anything.

And, well, it is.

Just two hours later, she receives an email from Quinn, with a very particular attachment.

 **To: rachel_berry  
** **From: lucyquinnfabray    
** **Subject: Get ready. Pack those bags.  
** **Date: 27 June 2011**

_Broadway,_

_Sorry for being AWOL today. I had some final preparations to make, but I’m done now, and I promise to call you later. Once you’ve calmed, though, because I appreciate my eardrums._

_Firstly, I know you were disappointed your fathers didn’t immediately say yes when you asked about Italy. It makes sense, if you think about it. I don’t know how willing I would be to let my only daughter fly halfway across the world to spend two weeks in a foreign country with an essential stranger. It would have been weirder if they didn’t want to speak to my parents about it first._

_Which they did._

_My parents can be very persuasive when they want to, apparently, because guess who now has a ticket to Rome booked in her name. Yip. Broadway Berry! (That’s not ACTUALLY the name on the ticket, but you get what I’m saying)._

_As you know, I’m leaving on 1st July with my parents and Frannie and the cyborg for two weeks in Greece, two weeks in Turkey, and then you’ll join us in Italy when my sister and Simon leave._

_I can’t even explain how excited I am right now. I did this crazy little happy dance like a complete dork in my bedroom. I honestly can’t wait to see you and touch you and hold you and kiss you and take you on dates and feed you things and hold your hand in the streets and just be with you._

_I told you I was going to make it happen. I’m sorry we still have to wait a month to see each other in person, but I promise it’ll be worth it. I’ll make every second we spend together memorable._

_So, gorgeous girlfriend of mine, please find your electronic ticket attached. It’s from New York straight into Rome on 31st July (a.k.a. Harry Potter’s birthday). Your fathers said they would organise getting you to New York, but I reckon the hard part is over._

_I’ve spent the last week filming videos for my Saturday and Sunday uploads while I’m away, which has been a little exhausting. Noah’s going to be handling the channel, mainly because I’m looking forward to a bit of a holiday. Wednesday videos will, however, fill everyone in on what I’ll be doing in Europe... because I am going to be visiting every kitchen I can get myself into. So, you know, if you’re lucky, you could even feature. If you wanted. No pressure._

_Anyway, I’m actually baking these garlic and herb rolls that my dad has been bugging me about all weekend right now. The hands are getting dirty. I’ll send you a picture when I’m done._

_I hope you’re not freaking out too much. I love you._

_You should probably know that I already have an (electronic) countdown currently going._

_Love,  
_ _Quinn_

Even though Quinn tried to warn her, the email still catches her off guard, and her phone actually slips from her hand, landing with a thump on her bedroom carpet.

Oh.

Okay.

It takes her nearly fifteen minutes to wrap her head around what she’s just read, and then only can she function enough to compose some kind of message to Quinn. She opts for a text, because she doesn’t think she can even speak right now.

 **Rachel Berry** : _I don’t mean to alarm you, but I’m going to ask you to marry me one day_.

She can’t quite explain what she’s feeling once she’s sent the message, but she doesn’t regret it. It’s almost as if she’s putting it into Universe, and now it’s bound to happen.

She wants it to.

She _needs_ it to.

And, from the reply Quinn sends nearly twelve minutes later, she’s not the only one.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _And, when you do, I’m going to say yes_.

 

* * *

 

Rachel wouldn’t know how to explain it, but she _feels_ it when Quinn departs the United States. It’s almost as if the hollowness in her chest grows, just knowing that Quinn is that much further away from her.

The distance is awful, sure, but, now, so is the time difference. Five hours. Six hours. It hurts her brain to have to remember, and it’s near impossible for them to talk on the phone.

So, they _Skype_.

A lot.

They actually get a little routine going. Quinn’s lunchtime coincides with Rachel’s breakfast, - well, they force the times to match up - so they technically share a meal with their laptops in front of them, and then they go about the rest of their days with short texts.

Quinn posts pictures on _Instagram_ of the various sights she’s visiting, from the Acropolis in Athens, all the way to the Blue Mosque in Istanbul.

She claims her favourite part of the trip has the short ferry ride from the coast of Greece to the coast of Turkey, because Simon got completely soaked by a trough of water hitting him while he lounged on the deck. She even sent a picture of the sopping man, captioning it with _doesn’t he look like a naked mole rat?_

Rachel laughed for four minutes straight, and then called Quinn out on her irrational hatred for Frannie’s boyfriend. It’s not irrational, apparently, but Rachel still likes riling her up about it.

When Quinn finally gets to Istanbul, something seems to change with her. Rachel can’t quite explain it.

Well, only at first, because then Quinn posts three pictures in quick succession about the food she’s been eating, and Rachel realises the chef in Quinn has discovered an entire new world of food.

As a result, all Quinn’s followers hear about Menemen, Dolma and Lahmacun, all of which she promises to learn how to make, and then teach them all. There’s a certain excitement in her eyes and voice, and this is exactly how Rachel loves her.

It’s also while Quinn is in Istanbul that Frannie cuts her hair in her hotel room. Quinn sends pictures of the entire process, starting with the wash, the blow-dry, straightening and... Well, Frannie ties Quinn’s long, beautiful blonde hair in a ponytail right on the top of her head, and then proceeds to cut off something like six inches with a pair of actual nail scissors.

Rachel gasped at the picture showcasing just how much hair had been removed, and then almost started crying when Quinn claimed she wasn’t going to send a picture of herself again. Rachel will see the end result when she arrives in Rome, and now she definitely can’t wait for her own departure.

 

* * *

 

Kurt helps her pack.

They’ve spent quite a lot of time together this summer. Sometimes with Blaine, but mainly without. Rachel accompanies him and Mercedes on a few shopping trips, but she doesn’t feel as if she fits into their dynamic, so she would rather see Kurt without her around. He’s... different when he’s with her.

They work best when it’s just the two of them, which is how they find themselves in Rachel’s bedroom two days before she’s scheduled to leave, her open suitcase on her bed and music playing from her dock station.

There’s a certain nervousness she’s feeling about the upcoming trip that she hasn’t been able to discuss with Quinn or her fathers, so she’s chosen Kurt in which to confide her feelings.

“Italy is... romantic,” Rachel starts, carefully folding a pair of sleep shorts and placing them on the ‘Going’ pile. “People go there and fall in love.”

Kurt glances at her over his shoulder, his body remaining facing her closet. “That’s what I hear,” he says carefully, realising she has something very specific she wants to say.

“I’m already in love,” Rachel says, fiddling with a rolled-up pair of socks. “I love her, Kurt, and I - “ she stops, shutting her eyes tightly. She opens them again, and looks at him, almost pleading with him to understand without her having to say the words. “I’m - “ she tries again.

Kurt abandons her closet and moves towards her. “It’s okay,” he says soothingly; “you can tell me.”

Rachel licks her lips, refusing to look at him. “I don’t know if you know this, Kurt, but I’m actually a virgin,” she says, half laughing at herself.

To his credit, he doesn’t visibly react.

“I’m going to the very romantic Italy to be with my gorgeous girlfriend, whom I love more than anything, which is why I get the feeling I won’t be returning to the States as one.”

Kurt breathes out slowly. “I can’t say I didn’t anticipate a conversation like this,” he starts. “Still, I’m not sure exactly what you’re asking me, because I can assure you I know even less about having sex with a girl than you do.”

Rachel slaps his arm, laughing. “That is _not_ what I need to talk to you about,” she says indignantly.

He raises his eyebrows at her tone of voice. “Oh?”

She blushes. “I’ve... been doing... research,” she confesses quietly. “I want to be ready if it happens.” She clears her throat. “I just - do you think she _expects_ it to?”

“Do you?”

Rachel sighs. “No,” she says. “Quinn seems to have a bit more of a level head about this kind of thing, but...” she trails off.

Kurt straightens slightly, nodding his head. “Here’s my advice,” he says. “Don’t go over there expecting anything. Whether or not it happens shouldn’t be on your mind. Don’t decide yes or no, unless you’re really not ready.”

“I think I am.”

“Then, if it does happen, that’s fine,” he says. “But, it doesn’t _have_ to, either. I think Quinn just really wants to spend time with you, so just do that. Go over there and enjoy yourself. Enjoy every moment; get lost in the magic of it all; let it all happen organically. Naturally. Planning too much could ruin it, and we don’t want that, do we?”

“No, we don’t,” she confirms with a nod of her head.

“You’re going to Italy, Rachel,” he says; “just embrace it; enjoy every second of it.”

She just about manages a smile.

“Now, I believe we have some packing to do,” he says. “We have to be smart about it, because obviously we have to save space for all the clothes you’re going to bring back for me.”

Rachel laughs, releasing a tense breath. “Okay, Kurt.”

“Okay?”

She squeezes his arm. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t ask her ‘for what,’ because it’s obvious he already knows.

 

* * *

 

When Rachel’s countdown runs out and the day arrives, her heart starts beating erratically. She’s still hours and thousands of miles away from Quinn, but it’s as if her body recognises that it’s about to be in Quinn’s presence.

She wakes early, finalises her packing and gets dressed for the endless hours of travel she has coming her way. It exhausts her just thinking about it, but she’ll scale Kilimanjaro to see Quinn, so this is really nothing.

She receives a text from Quinn just as they’re leaving the house for the two-hour drive to Columbus.

 **Quinn Fabray** : _Broadway, 24 hours and counting (on my end, at least - more for you). We just arrived in Rome, so we’re headed to the hotel. I’m a little bit exhausted, but I’m going to catch up on my sleep to be full of energy for you. I have so much planned. Anyway, have a safe drive, and flight and other flight :) Keep me updated on the progress. Can’t want to see you. I love you. X_

Rachel presses a hand to her heart, feeling it thump against her ribcage. Only Quinn can make her feel these things, even being so far away. It’s really a talent of hers.

Rachel looks to the front of the car, where her fathers are quietly chatting to each other. While they agreed to letting her go, it’s obvious they’re still worried about having her travel across the world by herself. She knows she’s going to be fine. She’s travelled alone before - though, not to a different continent - and she’s very aware and vigilant.

She even promised to keep her talking-to-strangers to a minimum.

Quinn asked her to keep sending pins of her locations, just so she can keep track of her. It’s cute how much they’re worried, but she’s going, and she’s going to arrive at her destination, come hell or high water.

So, the drive to Columbus is made mainly in silence, save for a few murmured words from her fathers. It’s only when they’re approaching the airport that both of them start listing all these rules and advice.

“Remember to be on your best behaviour while you’re over there.”

“Try as much as you can to greet the locals in Italian before attempting to find out if they speak English.”

“Eat ice-cream every day, if you can manage it.”

“Take lots of pictures.”

“Be gracious to your hosts.”

“You don’t have to call us every day, but a few texts would be nice.”

“Kiss Quinn every opportunity you get.”

“Try to keep a journal of your entire trip.”

“Come home with a tan. I don’t even want to be able to recognise you.”

“Stay safe.”

“Just have fun, Sweetheart.”

Rachel keeps her hand against her chest, suddenly feeling overly emotional. She just about manages to promise to do all of those things, some more than others, with more enthusiasm.

Kissing Quinn is probably at the top of her list.

So is keeping a journal.

Which is what she does the second she’s boarded the plane from Columbus to New York. She bought a brand new _Moleskine_ notebook for this exact purpose, and she sets herself up to spend the short flight detailing her morning and initial feelings about the trip to see Quinn.

She’s sitting by the window, beside an older man, who immediately buries himself in a John Grisham novel, and Rachel appreciates the silence. She really didn’t want to end up beside some ‘Chatty Kathy.’

The flight is uneventful, and she lands in New York before she knows it. She’s going to have to check in to the International side, and she’s so focused on where she has to go that she doesn’t notice Noah until she practically runs into him with her luggage cart.

“Whoa, Broadway,” he says, smiling widely. “You trying to kill me or something?”

Rachel just stares, slack-jawed.

“Surprise.”

She blinks. “What are you doing here?” she forces out, stepping towards him and hugging him.

“Well, Q mentioned that you had a couple of hours of waiting before your flight, and she thought you might like some company.”

Rachel raises her eyebrows. “Did she threaten you?”

Noah laughs. “Q doesn’t need to do that,” he says, moving around her and grabbing the handles of her cart. “She knows I would do anything for her.”

Rachel glances at him, suddenly feeling as if he’s told her something he didn’t intend to. From the tensing of his shoulders and slight widening of his eyes; he obviously has.

 _Oh_.

Rachel _could_ address it, but she doesn’t. What good would it do?

What she does ask is this: “Does she know?”

Noah audibly swallows. “She doesn’t _want_ to.”

Rachel feels slightly unsettled, but she doesn’t know what to say to him.

Obviously, he doesn’t either. “It is what it is,” he finally says, shrugging, and then clears his throat. “So, you’re headed to Italy, huh?”

And, she supposes, that tells them all they need to know.


	7. Chapter 7

**VII**

 

 **Quinn Fabray** : _It’s kind of the middle of the night here, but I wanted to tell you that I can’t wait to see you. I can barely get to sleep; I’m so excited. I hope the flight isn’t too awful. Try to get as much sleep as possible and stay hydrated. I love you. I love you. X_

The flight, itself, doesn’t prove to be too awful. She isn’t sitting next to anyone talkative, which is a relief and, beyond an initial exchanged smile in greeting, Rachel has the next almost nine hours to freak out about seeing Quinn.

She eats some dinner, watches one movie, and then falls asleep, only to be woken some hours later for breakfast service. She gets up to visit the bathroom, brushing her teeth, washing her face and combing her hair.

The hours are ticking by, and her nerves are starting to figure it out. There’s a certainanxiety that’s creeping into her bones, and she tries to focus on a movie, and then music, and then a novel.

It helps pass the time and, before she knows it, the plane is landing, and the heat of Rome is suddenly on her. She feels out of her element for a full fifteen seconds, but then she remembers she’s about to see Quinn, and then customs and immigration and getting her suitcase feel so pointless.

Stepping out of the terminal and into the Arrivals’ hall is a little terrifying, and she really doesn’t know what to expect. Is Quinn here? Is someone else here? Her eyes scan the crowd for a beat, and then her eyes zero in on a blonde figure holding up an _iPad_ with the word _Broadway_ written across it.

Rachel freezes in place, and only gets moving when said blonde figure does a little jump in place and smiles so widely that her cheeks must hurt.

Rachel doesn’t run, even though she wants to. She does walk quickly, though, heading straight towards where Quinn is standing, practically vibrating in place. She’s wearing denim shorts, a white tank top and white Chucks, with her sunglasses perched on the top of her head.

And her hair. It’s short. So, so short.

When Rachel is near enough, Quinn closes the space between them, and she finds herself wrapped in strong, warm arms that she’s missed something fierce. She inhales deeply, momentarily thrown by how different Quinn smells. She _feels_ different, as well, but this is Quinn.

She’s _Quinn_.

Eventually, Quinn loosens her grip enough to look at her, but she doesn’t release her. “Hi.”

Rachel beams at her. “Hey.”

“You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

Quinn’s eyes are slightly wide in disbelief. “You must be tired,” she says. “Hungry? I thought, maybe, we could get you something to eat and then head to the hotel. Maybe you’d like to catch a shower, get some rest, and then we’ll meet my parents for dinner later. Is that okay?”

“Sounds perfect,” Rachel says, which prompts Quinn to get moving. She hands Rachel the _iPad_ , and then proceeds to push her luggage cart, the two of them headed outside together.

“My parents thought I would probably want to pick you up myself,” Quinn says, blushing slightly. “They were right, of course, because all I can think about right now is getting you in my bed.”

Rachel can barely look at her, flushing instantly at the sound of those words. “You’re very tan,” is what she says.

Quinn glances at her own arms. “You’re catching the aftermath of a pretty bad burn,” she says. “The Greek sun wasn’t very kind to me.” She grins wickedly. “Even less so to Simon. God, it was _hilarious_. He could barely move, and Frannie kept coming to my room to get away from his endless complaining.”

“So, still not a fan, huh?”

Quinn shrugs. “He’s not the worst, but his personality is still severely lacking. I honestly don’t see what Frannie sees in him. I’m tempted to take her for an eye test, just to be sure.”

“Didn’t you say he was good looking?”

“That makes up for only so much, really.”

Rachel lets out a giggle as they get into a line to catch a taxi to the hotel. It doesn’t take very long, and Quinn uses her limited Italian to get them on their way.

Quinn holds her hand in the backseat, but she doesn’t speak, choosing rather to watch Rachel as Rachel watches the city of Rome pass them by.

It’s beautiful in a way that’s not perfect, and it endears itself to her that way. Of course, she’s done quite a bit of research on the places they’re going to be visiting. She wanted to be ready, prepared, and she knows a lot of useless facts about Rome now.

But, those all suddenly feel so unimportant right now, because she’s here and she’s with Quinn, and this is already going to be the greatest two weeks of her life. Hands down. It doesn’t even matter how this goes.

She’s here, and that’s all that matters.

The hotel is really nice, which is what she expects for the Fabray family. Rachel has noticed their wealth, but it’s not the flashy kind. They don’t flaunt it. It’s just... there. Quinn wants for nothing, and her parents have given her the kind of life that allows her to pursue a career that can be time-consuming and less than fruitful at times.

Rachel wouldn’t say she’s had the same experience. Her fathers work very hard to provide for her, but lecturers only make so much money, and they don’t give tenure to gay men in Ohio. And, as far as being a trauma surgeon goes, well, Rachel doesn’t really know. They’ve provided nearly everything she’s asked for - she’s still waiting on that unicorn - but they’ve never been able to take this kind of extravagant holiday for six weeks in the middle of the calendar year.

The hotel room, itself, is simple. She manages to catch sight of a queen bed, a pair of armchairs, a little table, a desk and Quinn’s closed suitcase before Quinn is kissing her.

The door has just closed, and her backpack slides off her shoulders as Quinn brings her closer and whispers _hello, I missed you_ against her lips. She’s smiling, Rachel can tell, and they’re here together in Rome, and this is everything.

“Okay,” Rachel murmurs, pulling back and smiling, already breathless. “Order me some food. I need a shower, and then a nap. In that order, probably.”

Quinn pouts. “Can’t we just keep kissing?”

Rachel rolls her eyes, and then softly pecks her cheek. “I really missed you,” she says.

“I missed you, too,” Quinn says, and the light in her eyes merely proves the truth of it.

 

* * *

 

After she’s showered, eaten and napped - with Quinn’s arms snugly around her - Rachel completely panics at the thought of seeing Quinn’s parents again. She’s spoken to Judy a handful of times in the past few weeks, but those were short conversations that covered the barest minimum.

Rachel knows Judy and Hiram seem to have struck up a bit of a friendship, and they talk often. Mainly about food, and about home decor, which is a little bit stereotypical, but Hiram honestly doesn’t care. He claims that he needs to be on good terms with his potential in-laws, which makes Rachel blush profusely.

It’d be worse if it weren’t so untrue. She and Quinn seem to be building that kind of relationship together, and it’s both terrifying and everything she’s ever wanted. They’re not just wasting time together. No. They’re growing together, towards each other, and into a strong, forever couple.

So, every interaction with Quinn, and with Quinn’s parents is doubly important. She’s laying the foundation down for a future as part of this family, and it causes her to panic. Which clearly stumps Quinn, as she stands at the door, ready to go, and watches as Rachel steadily unravels right before her eyes.

“Uh, Rach, what is happening right now?”

Rachel just stares at her, stopping her pacing. “You can’t seriously be so calm about this.”

“About what?”

“Your parents.”

“Love you,” Quinn says. “They absolutely adore you, so you can stop stressing, okay? They’re excited to see you and, the more you freak out, the longer they have to wait, and my dad is just going to get grumpier.”

Rachel forces herself to breathe steadily, and then steps towards Quinn. “Everything is going to be okay, right?”

“Of course,” Quinn says, and Rachel has the wild thought that Quinn won’t ever lie to her. It’s irrational, she knows, but she can’t help it. There’s just something about the way Quinn is looking at her that makes her believe the truth of it.

And, it’s confirmed for her when they finally meet up with Quinn’s parents. Russell and Judy look genuinely happy to see her, and she feels the same way, willingly showing it and trying to hide her blush when they tease her about how Quinn has been insufferable the last few days, in anticipation of her arrival.

“Guys,” Quinn whines, but she’s smiling and Rachel both swoons and leans into Quinn’s side. She’s not going to be self-conscious about this. She’s with Quinn. She loves Quinn, and Quinn’s parents have come to accept it.

Judy asks her about the trip once they’re seated for dinner at the hotel’s restaurant, and she tells her about the turbulence that saw one of the flight attendants spill a tray of cups of water onto an unsuspecting man, who they eventually had to offer a free flight on his next trip because he complained so much.

“I think he would have asked for an upgrade if it were juice, instead of water,” Rachel says, and they all share a laugh. She yawns shortly after, the jet lag catching up to her, and Russell uses it as a cue to bring the early evening to an end.

“I think we can have an easy morning, give Rachel some time to recover, and then take on the city after lunch,” Russell suggests, which earns him three nods in agreement.

Rachel yawns again, which speeds up their goodnight, and then Quinn and Rachel head upstairs while Russell and Judy go to the bar for a nightcap.

Rachel is too exhausted to worry about anything beyond brushing her teeth and changing into her pyjamas. She crawls into bed, settles into Quinn’s arms, and promptly falls asleep.

It’s so much better than any of her dreams.

 

* * *

 

The next afternoon, they go on a walking tour of Rome. It’s hot enough that Rachel even craves an ice-cold glass bottle of _Coke_ , which she never ever drinks.

If it’s Quinn’s intention to get all the touristy sightseeing out of the way as quickly as possible, she succeeds. They visit the Trevi Fountain, which Rachel imagines would be prettier if there weren’t so many people around. Still, they manage to make it to the edge, and Quinn hands her a coin.

“Make a wish,” she says.

Rachel looks at her face. “What if all my wishes are already coming true?”

Quinn’s features soften considerably, and she leans forward to kiss Rachel’s cheek. “Then, wish that they remain true,” she whispers.

It’s what she does, with her back to the fountain and her eyes closed. She flicks the coin over her shoulder with her thumb, breathes out, and then is surprised by the soft hand on her neck. Her eyes open just in time to see Quinn lean in to kiss her mouth. It’s chaste, barely there, but this is a moment she’ll never forget.

They pose for a few pictures, and then their tour guide, Bella, gets them moving, waving her clipboard rather enthusiastically in the air. Quinn skips ahead with Russell, and Judy falls into step with Rachel.

“This heat is painful,” the older woman complains.

Rachel just smiles. “Missing New York, are you?”

Judy’s eyes drift to where Quinn and Russell are playfully shoving at each other, and her answer is automatic. “No,” she says. “Not really.”

And, Rachel thinks she gets it. Sure, she had only a short time to witness Quinn in New York, but there’s something inherently free about her right now. Maybe, it’s because she’s less likely to be recognised here than in New York, or if it’s all the new food she’s getting to experience. Whatever it is, it’s beautiful.

She’s beautiful.

It’s not as if Rachel doesn’t really know that already, but she loves the reminder. Which she gets just minutes later when they get to the Spanish Steps. Quinn marvels at the architecture, and looks a little awed at the fact she’s an American in Rome sitting on Spanish steps.

They take several group photographs, the four of them, and then Quinn buys her a cone of vegan ice-cream that melts faster than she can eat it, which really creates a mess all over her hand and arm.

Rachel complains to Quinn about it, which gets her a dark, seemingly-aroused, look and the words _lick it clean_ , and she lets out a squeak, looking over her shoulder to make sure nobody is close enough to hear.

“Or, you know,” Quinn casually adds; “I could do it for you.”

Rachel moves away from her then, because she’s far too dangerous when she’s like this. Instead, Rachel gets a few wet wipes from Judy to clean herself up, and then they move on to the next site.

They visit the Fountain of the Four Rivers, and Rachel is quite intrigued by the statues representing the various continents. After that, there are a lot more fountains and a lot of cobbled squares. There a lot of artists around, and Quinn and Rachel pose for a portrait together that Rachel calls dibs on immediately.

Russell suggests dinner shortly after because he’s exhausted, and Quinn sets off in search of the best restaurant for all of them. Rachel feels a little bad that her vegan diet has made it that bit more difficult to find decent places, but Quinn seems to be relishing in the challenge.

She’s really a master at talking her way into the kitchens, as well, and they’ve only just managed to order before Quinn is getting up again and disappearing behind the kitchen doors and leaving Rachel alone with Russell and Judy.

It helps that they get along, she supposes, but it can still get a little awkward. They’re all still getting to know each other, and it’s just easier to talk about Quinn, which is what they do. She’s deeply aware that her face does something whenever she talks about her girlfriend, and she recognises the moment Quinn’s parents notice.

She ducks her head, blushing darkly.

Judy taps her hand with her forefinger, and Rachel lifts her gaze. “We’re glad you’re here, you know,” she says. “Not only for Quinn, but for us, as well.” She leans back slightly. “You’re obviously important to her, which makes you important to us. We’re all still getting used to... everything, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this happy.”

That does nothing for her blush, but she gets it.

She _gets_ it.

It’s as clear as daylight when Quinn finally emerges again, along with their food, a happy grin on her face and a fleck of red sauce on her neck. Rachel doesn’t know how it even ended up there, but she doesn’t say anything about it, because she wants nothing more than to be able to lick it off her when they’re alone.

Which is what happens nearly two hours later. Rachel barely lets the hotel room door close behind them before her mouth is on Quinn’s neck, licking at her salty skin and ignoring whatever Quinn is saying.

Something about a bakery the chef at the restaurant was telling her about where they could probably teach her to make a few Italian pastries. Quinn’s obsession with food is incredibly sexy, but it’s more distracting now, and Rachel slips her hand into Quinn’s hair, fists it and tilts the girl’s head so she can kiss her mouth.

That shuts her up, and Rachel smiles to herself when she feels Quinn’s hands settle on her hips, pulling her closer, even as she ends the kiss.

“At least let me turn on the air conditioner,” Quinn says, already breathless. “If we’re going to get hot and bothered, the least we can do is try to stay cool.”

Rachel lifts her own shirt over her head and chucks it somewhere over her shoulder, and then smiles at Quinn. “I like the way you think.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning, they head to the Coliseum after breakfast, and it’s every bit as amazing as Rachel imagined it would be. Quinn seems more relaxed, for some reason, and she’s not against holding Rachel’s hand as they follow the crowds in the heat.

There’s something so easy about being with Quinn like this. If she doesn’t think about it too much, she can almost imagine what their lives can be like, in the future.

They visit the Pantheon next, and it always catches her off guard the sheer number of people that are always around. Quinn marvels at the way the light coming in creates a shadow that indicates the time of day, and Rachel just marvels at her. She can be so child-like, sometimes, and Rachel is so in love with her.

In the afternoon, their visit to the Vatican City makes Rachel a little uncomfortable. She can’t really explain it, but the religion behind it - which denounces homosexuality - makes her feel as if any of the other people around could just look at her and just immediately know she’s gay. She’s aware Quinn and her family are Catholic, but Quinn also happens to be gay, and there is decidedly no hand-holding once they’re inside.

Instead, Rachel allows herself to take in the intricate details of the Sistine Chapel and the sheer expanse of St Peter’s Square. She’s seen them both in movies, but it’s different in real life.

It’s odd. Russell and Judy don’t really speak at all, even to each other, and Rachel wonders if that’s just their respect for the holy place coming into play, or if it’s something else entirely.

She hopes it’s the former, and that’s fuelled by the fact the sombre mood seems to dissipate once they’re on their way back to the hotel to get ready for dinner. Apparently, there’s a very specific restaurant Quinn wants to go to, and she even made a reservation for eight o’clock for the four of them, and Quinn uses some of the time after they get back to the hotel to catch a nap.

Rachel can only watch her in slight fascination, her mind registering how _young_ Quinn actually looks when she’s asleep. There’s such an innocence about her that Rachel can’t ignore. Or resist.

After she’s decided on what she wants to wear for their night out, Rachel crawls onto the bed with Quinn and curls her body into Quinn’s, sliding the sleeping blonde’s arm around her midsection and relaxing. This is what she’s spent the last two months missing, and she’s going to soak up every minute of it she possibly can.

She doesn’t expect to fall asleep, but the next thing she registers is Quinn moving around the hotel room with only a white, fluffy towel wrapped around her body, and the sight of it wakes Rachel right up immediately.

She can just watch as Quinn quietly hums to herself while she digs in her suitcase for something to wear. She pulls out two different dresses, and Rachel surprises them both when she says, “Wear the black one.”

Quinn jumps, and her towel almost slips as she turns around in surprise. “Jesus,” she squeaks, pressing a hand over her racing heart. “How long have you been awake?”

Rachel sits up, blinking the remaining sleep away from her eyes. “Wear the black one,” she says.

Quinn regards the dresses closely. “I was going to.”

“Good.”

Quinn huffs a breath. “The shower’s free, if you want.”

“You went without me,” she says with a pout.

Quinn smiles at her. “I don’t think you’re ready to see what’s under this towel, Berry,” she jokes.

Rachel frowns. “Has... anyone?”

“What?”

Rachel flushes. “Sorry, I just - I don’t even know if you’ve ever - “ she stops abruptly, because she’s suddenly not so sure she even wants to know. She knows about Quinn’s once relationship with a boy, Paul, but there were no actual details. She also hasn’t ever mentioned a girl, and Rachel wonders why that may be.

Obviously, Rachel told Quinn about Jesse and Finn, because there was just no getting around it, given all the drama those two boys caused. But, Quinn has been the only girl she’s ever truly liked.

There were crushes, she thinks, now that she knows she’s gay, and things have started to look different. It’s surprising that they’ve never actually talked about this.

Right now, Quinn is giving her a curious look. “Rachel, are you asking me if I’ve ever had sex?”

And, Rachel flushes. “Is that a totally unwarranted question?” she asks.

Quinn sets her clothing over her suitcase and sighs. “Would it change the way you think of me if I wasn’t a virgin?”

“Of course not.”

“Because, I am,” she says, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, close by Rachel without actually touching her. “I - I came close with Paul. We did… some other things, I guess, but I - “ she stops, licking her lips. “He’s older than me by two years, and I just - I couldn’t. It’s one of the reasons we ended up breaking up. The other being, well, I started to figure out I wasn’t into him the way I really should have been.” She takes a breath. “It took me a while to bring up my theory to anyone, and it was really an accident having Noah figure it out. Apparently, I’m less inconspicuous as I think I am when I’m checking out a girl.” She flushes darkly, and Rachel trails her fingers over the blonde hairs of Quinn’s arm.

Quinn shivers. “Anyway, Noah and I talked about it, a lot, and I guess he helped me come to terms with it.”

Rachel can’t even imagine how difficult that must have been for Noah. “Was he your wingman?”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “That’s what he calls himself, anyway,” she says, an affectionate smile on her face. “I’m his wingwoman, so it evens itself out, I think.”

“So, you’ve kissed a girl before?”

Quinn hesitates for a beat, and then nods. “Before you, I’d kissed two girls and three boys,” she explains. “My first kiss was about two years after TCJ, and that was with Noah.” She winces. “He likes to remind me he was my first, but whatever. It was awkward, and I distinctly remember punching him in the stomach afterwards. Then there was Paul. After that, we wanted to test it out again, so Noah took me to this club, and I ended up making out with this guy, Nick, which was okay, I guess. But then, there was also this girl, Marie, and it was like the world exploded when we first kissed. If I needed some kind of confirmation, I definitely got it.”

Rachel can’t help being somewhat disappointed that she wasn’t Quinn’s first girl kiss the way Quinn is hers, but they have so many more firsts to come, and there’s really nothing she can do about it now, anyway.

“There was another girl, Robyn, and we went on a few dates before it kind of just ended.” She looks uncertain for a moment. “She was older than me, and she wasn’t so keen on the fact we couldn’t be open with our potential relationship, and I had to respect that, I guess. I wasn’t ready to come out then, and I’m not now, but - “ she stops suddenly, looking momentarily distressed. “Look, I know you say you’re okay with staying hidden for now, but you’ll tell me when this isn’t enough anymore, right? We’ll talk about it first, right? You aren’t just going to hand me an ultimatum, and then leave me when I can’t do it, right?”

“Oh, Quinn,” Rachel breathes shifting forward and taking hold of Quinn’s face in her hands. “I love you, and I promise we’ll talk about everything. I won’t ever leave you over something like this.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because I know you wouldn’t leave me, either.”

Quinn just stares for a moment, and then nods. “Okay,” she finally says. “Up you get, then; we have a reservation to make.”

 

* * *

 

Rachel and Quinn aren’t the only ones who are dressed up, apparently, when the girls emerge in the lobby to find Judy fiddling with Russell’s tie in the hotel’s lobby.

Russell spots them first and smiles widely. “Well, I feel like the luckiest man on the planet,” he says. “Dinner with three beautiful ladies. Wow.”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “You’re not looking too shabby yourself, Dad.”

Russell rubs his freshly-shaved chin with the backs of his fingers. “I was enjoying the scruff,” he complains.

“I wasn’t,” Judy murmurs, and Rachel giggles, while Quinn pulls a face.

“I didn’t need to know that,” she grumbles. “Shall we get going?”

Rachel slips her hand into Quinn’s as they head out. It’s not very far, and the four of them opt to walk, just making it in time for their reservation. They’re seated promptly, and then Quinn proceeds to gush over the menu while Russell orders a bottle of wine for the table.

“What happens in Roma, stays in Roma,” he whispers conspiratorially.

“Wrong city, Dad, but you’ll hear no protests from me,” Quinn says, grinning at him, and then winking at Rachel.

She is so in love, it’s actually disgusting at this point.

Quinn places her order with all of them, and then, somehow, gets invited into the kitchen. It’s a literal talent of hers, but it seems that the chef de cuisine knows who she is. Apparently, he has a daughter who loves Quinn’s videos, and Quinn jumps at the opportunity to learn anything and everything she can about food.

Rachel looks torn, trying to figure out how she feels about Quinn’s disappearances. She’s never done it when it’s just the two of them, but it’s something Rachel wonders about.

Which is why she asks, “Does she always do this?”

Judy shifts uncomfortably. “Not always,” she says. “She just gets excited in these foreign places. She loves learning about all these new things, but, no, she’s not always like this.”

It’s cute, and Rachel marvels at the way Quinn loves her craft. Passion is sexy in all the ways, but she can’t help wanting Quinn here with her. With them. She just wants her here. All the time.

Maybe Judy can sense it, because she leans forward and pats Rachel’s hand. “You know this doesn’t mean she’s not happy to see you, right?”

Rachel nods. “I know,” she says, because she does. She really does. It just doesn’t make her wish for Quinn any less.

“Good,” Russell says; “because she really hasn’t shut up about you since...” he trails off, pretending to think about it; “January, probably.”

Rachel giggles.

“It was December,” Judy adds. “Or, even November.”

Rachel blinks. “We started to talk only in November,” she points out.

Judy’s smile widens. “Well, when you know, you know.”

Rachel audibly swallows. “Was that how it was with you two?”

Judy exchanges a look with Russell. “Not really,” she says, smiling to herself. “I thought he was a pompous asshole when we first met.”

Rachel smiles widely. “Wow, okay.”

“We didn’t get on at all,” Judy continues to explain. “My best friend was actually interested in him first, and she was trying to get me to keep his best friend occupied, so they could talk, and it was just a disaster after disaster from that moment on.”

“Why?”

Judy glances at Russell. “Well, it turned out he was just a pretend asshole,” she says; “and I made the mistake of starting to like him, as well.” She shakes her head. “Have you ever liked the same person as your best friend?”

Rachel licks her lips. “I’ve never really had a best friend,” she quietly admits. “Not before Quinn, at least, and we’re kind of a special case.” She sips her water. “And, Kurt, my other friend is, well, he’s also gay, but we did like the same boy sophomore year, I guess. Before we were really friends.”

Judy smiles, soft and gentle, and Rachel wonders if this is what it’s like to have a mother. Judy has made herself clear on a number of occasions that Rachel can talk to her, if she needs to, and Rachel has yet to take her up on it.

She likes having the option, though.

And Russell, well, he has a particular fondness for Blues music, and Rachel loves to talk to him about that. She’s gained so much from Quinn, and she wonders, sometimes, what exactly she’s been able to offer Quinn in return.

Besides herself, of course.

In this relationship, Quinn holds a certain edge over her, even though she knows it’s not a conscious thing. This entire relationship has been a whirlwind for her - hello, she’s currently in Italy - and parts of it are almost unreal. Quinn is… famous, known even in Italy, and that puts a certain pressure on them.

On _her_.

“Does this Kurt know about you?” Judy asks. “Do you have someone your age to talk to you?”

Rachel nods. “He knows,” she says. “I talk to him, yes.”

“Good,” Judy says, nodding her head. “My therapist says it’s important to have friends you can confide in. I know Quinn talks to Noah, sometimes, and she’s been able to open up to Frannie now. This is the first time she’s really been in love, I believe, and she worries she’s doing it wrong.”

Rachel shakes her head. “She’s not.”

Judy smiles softly. “That may be so,” she says; “but you should know that you can tell her if something is bothering you. She’s very good at a distance, I think, but she has to adjust to being in person, so you need to vocalise what you want and need, okay? She’s essentially been an only child since Frannie graduated from high school, so she can be quiet and independent, so you just have to tell exactly what’s up, okay?”

Rachel hears what Judy is saying, and she nods to show she’s listening. It’s not really something she did when she was with Finn. She used to talk, and he wouldn’t really listen, but she gets the feeling that it’ll be different with Quinn.

Quinn listens to her, and that’s, perhaps, scarier than anything else.

They settle into easier conversation, the three of them discussing the best parts of Italy, and how different Judy and Russell find it to Italy and Greece.

When Quinn gets back, she arrives with their food and an excited smile on her face. She’s flushed and her eyes are bright, and Rachel can’t help but wonder if she’ll ever be able to get Quinn to look like that.

Quinn slips back into her seat and leans over to kiss her cheek, absently whispering, “God, you look gorgeous,” in her ear.

This is also something she didn’t have with Finn, or even Jesse. Sometimes, she had to prompt compliments from the boys, but Quinn freely hands them out, and Rachel can tell she actually means them. It can be overwhelming at times, but she wouldn’t change a thing.

“I got to watch them make your food,” Quinn says, still leaning in to Rachel, murmuring softly. “I also got to add a little something special.”

Rachel’s eyebrows rise. “Is it going to be something corny like - “

“Maize,” Quinn quickly interjects, and then immediately laughs at her own joke.

Rachel rolls her eyes. “God, you’re such a dork.”

“Or, maybe it could have been something cheesy like Parmesan,” Quinn adds. “Which would really only work if you weren’t a vegan. Your choices are really messing with my jokes here, Berry.”

Rachel rests her head on Quinn’s shoulder for a moment.

“I added love, by the way,” Quinn whispers, and Rachel lifts her head to look at her, her heart warming and melting into a puddle. “And red pepper flakes, of course.”

Rachel giggles. “Of course.”

“They really are the best.”

Rachel has to agree, because they really are. They’re one of Quinn’s favourite ingredients, and she adds them into several of her signature dishes.

Because, she has them. Quinn has her very own signature dishes, because cooking is her career and this is what she wants to do with her life.

This is what Rachel loves. When Quinn is here with her, full and present; smiling and laughing and discussing food and her love with the kind of ease that makes Rachel feel as if she’s the luckiest girl in the world.

This.

How could she ask for anything more?

 

* * *

 

It isn’t until three days later, when Quinn disappears from the dinner table, that Rachel accepts that she may or may not actually have to have a significant conversation with Quinn about it.

It’s not that it bothers her, per se, but there is a niggling feeling in her gut that tells her it’s important they have this talk before it gets out of hand. She misses Quinn. Even when she’s right here, her hand resting on a tense thigh; she misses her something fierce.

So, at dinner, when Quinn gets up to disappear into the kitchen, Rachel keeps hold of her hand and whispers, “Stay.”

Quinn looks perplexed for a moment, but she must see Rachel’s pleading eyes, because she resettles in her seat with a slight frown. Then, she’s considerably quiet for a full fourteen minutes, Russell telling a story about his close encounter with a man on a vesper, who rode over his foot.

“It’s definitely broken,” Russell declares, almost too proudly.

The first words Quinn says, settling slightly, are, “You would be in agony, Dad.”

Rachel glances nervously at her, wondering if she’s actually done something wrong. Quinn hasn’t really looked at her since she asked her to stay.

“I _am_ in agony,” Russell says. “Your mother dragged me through seventeen shops today, Quinn. Seventeen. I’m pretty sure they all sold the same thing.”

Judy swats his forearm. “They didn’t,” she says. “And, really, Russell, we came to Italy to shop. I held back while we were in Greece and Turkey for precisely this reason.”

Russell looks at Rachel, shrugging in a way that says ‘what can you do?’ and she smiles in response.

Quinn sips at her wine, quiet and thoughtful, and Rachel wonders if her parents can tell that something’s amiss. Off. Not quite right.

If they do, neither of them mentions it, and they somehow manage to settle into easy conversation, with Quinn contributing in bits and pieces, but still enough not to draw too much attention to her… well, whatever is going on in her mind.

And, Rachel only figures out what that something is much later, once they've gone through an awkward end to the evening and managed to get ready for bed in almost painful silence.

Quinn crawls into bed first, a slight crease in her forehead, and lies perfectly still on her back, her fingers clasped over her abdomen. There’s a certain tension clawing at the space between them, and Rachel doesn’t know how to breach the chasm that seems to have grown between them in the space of a few hours.

They would be _closer_ if she were still in Lima, for all she feels. With a sigh, Rachel climbs into bed beside Quinn, rolls onto her side to face her and says, “Talk to me.”

It takes Quinn four minutes and twelve seconds to speak, and her voice sounds hollow, somewhat detached. “When I was fourteen, Noah and I had our biggest ever fight,” she says. “He planned out this whole day for us. I was supposed to go over to his house and play video games, and he wanted to take me to this comic book store he found, and it was just a day, for us.”

She takes a breath. “Anyway, I showed up a little late because I got caught up making these new peanut butter cookies, and I took some for him in apology. He doesn’t usually get mad when I bring him things, but he was clearly irritated with me, and I made it worse when I kind of invited Kayla in on our day, and then started talking food with her instead of spending time with him. I mean, it wasn’t really anything unusual, but the way he suddenly blew up was.

“He just started yelling about how I was always so focused on food and I didn’t care about him half as much, and I guess there was a lot of pent-up frustration that came tumbling out. Because, well, Kayla and I share this love of food. We bonded over it first, and Noah felt left out sometimes, and I didn’t know. I didn’t _know_ , Rachel, and we ended up not speaking for two full weeks before Kayla dragged us into a _Starbucks_ and forced us to talk.

“So, we did, and he made me promise that his time was his time, and I gave him this secret codeword for when he thinks I’m getting too far into… _Flavourtown_ , to quote Mr Fieri.” She clears her throat. “Are we going to have to do the same thing?”

Rachel shifts her body closer, her right hand reaching out to cover both of Quinn’s. “No,” she says.

Quinn looks at her, clearly surprised. “No?”

“No,” Rachel confirms. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Quinn scrambles to sit up, looking bewildered. “Why are _you_ apologising? Rachel? I’m the one who should - “

Rachel cuts her off with a firm kiss, and then drags her fingers through Quinn’s loose hair. “I’m sorry,” she says again. “This - this is your passion. It’s your… thing, and I never want to be a person who makes you feel as if you have to turn off parts of who you are.”

Quinn just stares at her.

“This is… my problem,” she murmurs. “It’s not yours, and I - “

“I love you,” Quinn says. “It’s my responsibility to make sure you feel secure in this relationship, and I’m clearly failing at that.”

“Quinn, it’s not as if you’re cheating on me with food.”

“Am I not?”

Rachel laughs softly, and then leans forward to kiss Quinn again. And again. She kisses her with every part of her, forcing her onto her back and rolling onto her. Trapping her. Covering her. Surrounding her.

Quinn allows herself to be kissed, her heart beating way too fast and her nerves threatening to short-circuit. It’s as if Rachel is telling her it’s okay, whatever it is, and Quinn knows there’s still guilt sitting on her conscience, but she’s just going to enjoy this moment.

Rachel’s hands sneak under Quinn’s t-shirt, splaying against the warm skin and taut abdominals she finds there. Just being able to _touch_ makes her moan, and she shifts her body until she’s fully settled on Quinn, their legs entangled the way their tongues are.

“Food is important to you,” Rachel says, breathless, as she lifts her head. “It’s important to you in a way that singing and music is important to me. I freaked out like a complete nutter when we went to the opera, and you were - “

“I was what?”

“You were great,” Rachel says, dropping her head and resting her forehead against Quinn’s collarbone. “You’ve always been so supportive of my passions, and I want to be that for you, but…” she trails off.

Quinn hums. “But, maybe, I should spend meals sitting at the table?” she offers.

“Am I asking too much?”

“No.”

“Tell the truth.”

“I am,” Quinn says, sliding her hands along Rachel’s back, her nails leaving indents along the fabric she finds there. “I’m sorry.”

Rachel sighs, and then proceeds to place soft kisses along the pale skin she currently has access to. Her mouth curves into a smirk when Quinn squirms. “We have time,” Rachel murmurs, nipping at Quinn’s sensitive throat. “We have time.”

 

* * *

 

Time, they do have, and, whenever Rachel thinks it might turn awkward at any other meals that follow, it doesn’t. Quinn is still as animated about food as she’s ever been, and Rachel chooses rather to kiss Quinn’s cheek and then send her on her way to the kitchens whenever they go to restaurants she has on her ‘Ultimate Italian Restaurants to Try Before I Die’ list.

Quinn seems to have completed her Turkish and Greek lists, and Rachel isn’t going to be the one to stand in the way of that. She’s just relieved Quinn drags her along with her wherever and whenever she goes. She reasons she would be the same way if ever they were on Broadway, or if they were at the West End. She likes to think Quinn would accompany her just as enthusiastically, and there are parts of her that are sure of it.

They’re building the kind of relationship that screams of _forever_ , and she’s desperate to hold onto it as tightly as possible.

It’s a relief to know Quinn is on the same page as her.

 

* * *

 

One morning, Rachel wakes up alone, and she panics for exactly two minutes until she finds a note Quinn left on the nightstand, and then actually laughs, because Quinn is something special.

 

_Broadway,_

_If you’re reading this, I’m not back yet. Sorry._

_I’m going to Carlo’s. He’s teaching me how to make traditional cannoli and Sfogliatelle, and you were too adorable to wake when I left. I should be back by ten, maybe eleven the latest. My parents are spending the morning by the pool if you want to touch base with them after breakfast._

_I’m thinking that we can go shopping after lunch. I’m pretty sure Kurt expects something awesome._

_Know that I’m thinking about you._

_I love you._

_\- Q_

 

One look at the clock tells her that she still has at least ninety minutes before she really has to be out and about, so she allows herself to enjoy the comfort of a good lie-in, her mind drifting to pleasant places.

Places that include Quinn.

She falls asleep again, exhaustion keeping her in bed. Quinn is constantly on the move, restless in some ways, and Rachel needs to recharge in order to keep up.

When she next wakes, it’s a surprise and also not to find Quinn sitting at the end of the bed, a box of pastries beside her and her phone in her hand.

Rachel remains perfectly still, watching her carefully. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, looking adorable, and Rachel is content to lie here forever.

Which is an impossibility, really, so she shifts into a sitting position, and her movement prompts Quinn to turn around.

“Hey, you,” Quinn says, smiling warmly. “Someone’s being a lazy bones today, I see.”

“I’m on holiday,” Rachel murmurs. “I’m allowed to be lazy.”

Quinn gets to her feet, and moves to sit on the edge of the bed, right at her hip, bringing her box of treats with her. “Indeed you are,” she says, absently tucking a lock of hair behind her hair. “You’re cute when you just wake up.”

“I’m always cute,” she counters with a slight pout.

Quinn smiles warmly, and then leans forward to press a soft kiss to pink lips. “Then, you’re _especially_ cute when you’ve just woken up.”

Rachel just hums, and then kisses Quinn again. “You smell like a bakery.”

“Do I taste like one too?”

Rachel nips softly at Quinn’s bottom lip, and then leans back. “Did you bring me something sweet?”

“Is this your breakfast?”

“No.”

Quinn laughs softly. “Can _I_ be your breakfast?”

“Please.”

Quinn kisses her again, her right hand moving to rest on the curve of Rachel’s waist, her fingers gripping the fabric she finds there. She could happily spend her day doing exactly this, but she did mention something about shopping. Right? She can’t remember.

“Quinn?” Rachel murmurs, pulling back and blinking owlishly.

“Hmm?”

“What is a sfogl - sfoglia - uh - that thing?”

Quinn laughs softly. “Sfogliatelle?”

“That’s what I said.”

Quinn leans forward and opens the box of treats she spent the morning making. “They’re called lobster tails,” she says. “They’re supposed to be one of the most difficult pastries to make.”

“Are they?”

“Yes,” she says. “It’s also time-consuming. You have to stretch and stretch the dough really thin, making sure not to get any holes in it. And then you roll it into a tight spiral, spreading lard over it to make sure you get sufficient lamination.” She points at the visible lines on one of the pastries. “I don’t know if I’ll ever willingly make them myself ever again, but it’s nice to know how.”

Rachel smiles at her. “And the cannolis?”

“One of Italy’s most famous,” she says. “It’s a hard pastry shell filled with homemade ricotta.”

“Are they supposed to have bubbles?”

Quinn leans over and kisses her cheek. “They are,” she says, fake glaring. “Thank you very much.”

Rachel turns her head and kisses Quinn’s mouth, letting her lips linger for the longest time. She can feel Quinn smile against her, and she nips playfully at Quinn’s bottom lip.

When she eventually pulls away, Quinn is smiling dopily at her. “So,” she says; “shopping?”

 

* * *

 

Quinn is happy to follow Rachel around while she browses, as long as they’re going to step into _Zara_ at some point. Apparently, Quinn has saved her allowance - _yes, Rachel, I still get an allowance, because all the money I make goes into a Trust_ \- all year for precisely this moment, and she needs a new wardrobe for the start of the new school year.

So, Rachel gets her fathers and Kurt out of the way pretty quickly, and then she spends about an hour browsing for herself, eventually deciding on two skirts and a cashmere sweater.

When she deems herself done - _for now, Quinn_ \- Quinn leads the way to _Zara_ , the two of them opting to walk. Quinn has a little list of items she needs, mainly dresses, tops and at least three new blazers. She has big things planned for the upcoming year, in terms of building her brand, and she intends to look the part.

“We’ll go somewhere else for shoes,” Quinn declares once they arrive, stepping into the air-conditioning.

From the methodical way Quinn moves through the store, it’s obvious to Rachel she’s done something like this before. Rachel almost wants to tease her about if she’s going to be purchasing a lesbian power suit, but she can’t be sure she’ll be able to handle Quinn’s response. Her girlfriend has a habit of countering with some pretty saucy things.

She’ll bring it up later.

When they’re alone.

Because, right now, she has to pay attention. This is expected, because, now, Quinn is doing the thing and actually modelling for her. It doesn’t look as if it’s her favourite thing to do, but she does it for Rachel. Because, God, just getting to see her in all these dresses and skirts and blouses and jeans and shorts and jackets makes Rachel want to rip them all off of her and do things for which she’s not sure they’re actually ready.

There’s this one black dress in particular that fits Quinn so snuggly that Rachel’s eyes darken immediately, and she can’t stop herself from following Quinn back into the changing room and kissing her senseless, earning herself the kind of moan from the blonde’s lips that’s bound to get them caught out.

“I’m guessing I’m getting this dress,” Quinn murmurs against swollen lips.

“I would be very disappointed if you didn’t,” Rachel tells her, and she can’t resist dragging her hand along the skin of Quinn’s exposed thigh, smiling when Quinn shivers.

“Oh, fuck,” Quinn hisses, closing her eyes.

Rachel hums against the skin of Quinn’s neck, and then drags said skin into her mouth, biting gently. She marvels at the way Quinn’s fingers dig into her hips, and the way her breath comes out staccato.

“I have more clothes to try on,” Quinn manages to force out.

“Buy them all,” Rachel casually says, and she trails her lips down to Quinn’s right collarbone, and then even further until she’s sucking at the exposed flesh of her right breast.

Quinn moans, entirely too loudly, and Rachel lifts one hand to smother the sound.

“You have to be quiet,” Rachel chastises, sounding entirely too smug. “Do you want them to come in here and find out what we’re doing?” Her other hand rises higher, slipping beneath the tight fabric of Quinn’s dress, and Quinn is not quiet at all. She lifts her head to kiss Quinn’s mouth again, dipping her tongue inside and exploring every warm crevice.

Quinn’s hands slide up the sides of Rachel’s body, along her shoulders, and then into her hair. She tilts Rachel’s head slightly, deepening the kiss while drawing the brunette closer.

And closer.

Their bodies are pressed together so tightly that Quinn feels Rachel’s phone vibrate before she does. It makes her laugh, and Rachel pulls back, confused.

Quinn runs a hand through her hair. “It seems somebody knows what you’re getting up to,” she says, breathless. “You want to take that. Outside. Away from me. So I can wrap up here, we can pay, and then I can model for you properly in the privacy of our hotel room.” She grins wickedly. “I have a bikini.”

Rachel sucks in a breath, immediately nodding. “That sounds like a plan,” she says, nodding her head, and then ducking out of the cubicle to take the call.

It’s her father, and she has to steady her breathing as much as possible, so he doesn’t ask any unnecessary questions. She wouldn’t even know how to explain she’s been making out with her girlfriend in a fitting room like some kind of horny teenager.

“Hello,” she finally answers, automatically smiling.

“Rachel, Sweetheart, hello,” Hiram says, a little too loudly, as if he's unsure if she can hear him through the connection. “How are you? How's Quinn? How's Rome?”

Rachel giggles softly as she moves to sit on one of the cushioned benches while she waits for Quinn to finish up. “I'm good, Dad, and how are you?” she asks, settling down and huffing out a breath. Despite her sleep-in this morning, she's oddly still exhausted. It might just be the heat.

“Better, now,” he says. “I'm not catching you at a bad time, am I?”

“No,” Rachel tells him. “Quinn and I are just doing some shopping, and then we're going to meet her parents for dinner later.”

“Ooh,” Hiram says. “What are we buying?”

“Mostly clothes,” she says. “I bought Daddy all the finest coffee he could ever want. Both Russell and Quinn approve.”

“And, for me?”

“I can't tell you,” she says.

“What?” he gasps. “Why not?”

“It’s a surprise,” she says; “but I get the feeling you’re definitely going to approve.”

“What?” he screeches. “You can’t just say that and then not tell me. That’s not fair. It’s the worst form of punishment, Rachel. What have I ever done to deserve such treatment?”

As if Rachel has ever wondered where she gets her dramatics from. She’s about to respond when Quinn steps out of her cubicle, dressed in crisp black slacks, a white button-down and a thin black tie. Rachel’s mouth goes dry immediately, her eyes widening at the sight of Quinn inspecting herself in the full-length mirror.

“Jesus,” Rachel murmurs.

“Rachel?” Hiram asks. “Sweetheart, is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Rachel rushes to say, and then squeaks when Quinn turns to her and… leers.

Yip.

That’s the only way to describe it. It’s honestly the sexiest thing Rachel has ever seen, and she can barely breathe.

It really doesn’t help when Quinn starts to walk towards her, everything about her looking like a predator stalking its prey. Rachel. Rachel is her prey.

“Dad,” Rachel suddenly squeaks, as if she’s informing Quinn she’s on the phone with her father. She hopes it’ll be enough to get the blonde to retreat, but it merely urges her on and, before Rachel even knows what’s happening, Quinn is sitting in her lap, straddling her thighs, right out here in the communal area of the fitting rooms.

“I still think you should give me at least a clue,” Hiram is saying into Rachel’s ear, but all she has any focus on is Quinn and Quinn’s hands and Quinn’s mouth and her delicious weight. “Is it coffee, as well? Because you know I’m more of a tea drinker, Sweetheart.”

Rachel can’t even bring herself to reply as Quinn’s teeth find her earlobe. “Oh, God,” she groans, and this is it. This is how she’s going to die.

Or, get arrested, probably.

What are the public indecency laws like in Italy?

Rachel’s hand with the phone drops uselessly to the side when Quinn shifts against her, and this is dangerous. They’re in public. Anyone could see them. Is homosexuality punishable here? Rachel’s sure she would have read that somewhere, surely, but that doesn’t mean two girls can just go about making out in clothing stores.

“Quinn,” Rachel warns, but Quinn doesn’t seem to be listening. Instead, she’s kissing the skin just below Rachel’s ear, which is a particularly sensitive spot on the brunette - and Quinn _knows_ \- and Rachel squirms in her seat. “Quinn,” she tries again, but her voice has lost its power. She doesn’t want Quinn to stop, and they both know it.

Rachel is just about to give in, completely and without a care, when they hear a smattering of voices approaching. Before Rachel can even register their impending arrival, Quinn jumps up and disappears without a word and Rachel is left breathless and needy when a trio of women rounds the corner, startling slightly to find her just sitting there.

Rachel offers them a shaky smile, and then remembers the phone in her hand. With a sharp gasp, she brings it back up to her ear and says, “Dad?”

“Oh, there you are,” Hiram says. “I think the connection went away for a while there.”

And, it’s all Rachel can do not to burst out laughing,

 

* * *

 

“Quinn?”

Quinn looks away from where she’s digging in her suitcase for her pyjamas, suddenly just knowing this conversation is going to lead somewhere… she’s not sure either of them is ready to tackle yet. Still, she takes a deep breath, and then meets Rachel’s eyes. “Yes?”

“What was that?” Rachel asks, her voice slightly hesitant. “Today, at _Zara_?”

Quinn takes a breath, just picking a random t-shirt from her things and slipping it on over her towel. She already put on her underwear in the bathroom, and she’s planning on going without any pants tonight.

If it has anything to do with the way Rachel seems unable to stop staring at her legs, well, she’s not admitting to it. It’s the heat, she’ll say.

“What do you mean?” Quinn asks, just to buy herself time. Also, really, she’s not the only one who went a little above and beyond _physically_ today. Rachel practically mauled her in the little cubicle - not that Quinn is complaining. She could definitely go for some more of that.

A lot of that, actually.

They both know what Rachel is really asking, and Quinn needs her to ask it properly before she can answer. It’s something relatively unspoken, but the truth lingers in the air.

Rachel clears her throat. “I love you,” she says. Then, biting the bullet, she says, “I want to have sex with you.”

Quinn freezes.

“Is that something you also want?”

 _Yes_. Quinn would shout it from the rooftops, if it wouldn’t brand her as insane. _That_ video would go viral, she’s sure. Taking a steadying breath, Quinn moves to sit on the edge of the bed, beside where Rachel has already slipped under the covers. She takes hold of the brunette’s hands in both of hers and just holds them in the space between them.

Rachel’s facial expression is expectant, patient in all the best ways, and Quinn loves her even more for it.

“We’ve been going in that direction for a while, haven’t we?” Quinn questions, her voice light.

Rachel nods. “I’m _very_ attracted to you.”

Quinn can’t help her grin, and it spreads across her face, blindingly. “Good,” she says. “It would be awkward, otherwise.”

“Oh?”

Quinn’s smile softens. “I want to have sex with you, too,” she declares. “I mean, of course I do, Rachel.” She squeezes the hands in her hold. “I want to do _everything_ with you.”

Rachel’s breath hitches. “Everything?”

Quinn leans forward slightly. “There are no expectations here, right?” she asks. “We can just… be, and if and when it happens, it will, right?”

“Is that a dig at my need to plan excessively?”

Quinn’s grin is mischievous now. “No,” she lies, blatant.

Rachel huffs, feigning annoyance.

Quinn presses a soft kiss to her pouting lips. “All I’m saying is that we don’t have to worry ourselves about the specifics of _this_ ,” she says, gesturing between them. “As long as we both know we’re both willing, I say we just let it happen.”

“So, not right now, is really what you’re trying to tell me?” Rachel ventures, her own eyes glinting with sudden mischief.

Quinn kisses her again, and again, slowly lifting herself up until she can climb onto the bed and hover over a grinning Rachel Berry. “Perhaps,” Quinn muses. “I mean, just because we’re not doing _that one_ thing, doesn’t mean we can't do so many other things.”

Rachel shivers at merely the thought, and her fingers immediately reach up to thread through Quinn’s short hair. “What did you have in mind?”

Quinn doesn't respond verbally, choosing rather to use her mouth for other, more pleasurable, things.

Not that Rachel is complaining.

 

* * *

 

Their last night in Rome is spent exploring the nightlife.

After dinner with Quinn’s parents, the girls get dressed up and venture out to a few of the places that have been mentioned to Quinn by the concierge in the reception.

Technically, they’re underage, but nobody needs to know that. They do look considerably older when they’re dressed up, and this is the first time Rachel really sees Quinn in heavy makeup, her hair curled and her clothing designed to attract attention. It’s practically indecent, and Rachel is so tempted to tell her to change.

This Quinn should be for her eyes only.

But, also, she wants to show her off, and have people know this gorgeous, delightful creature is hers.

So, when she’s ready, she spends a few moments openly drinking in the sight of her girlfriend, and then they head out. Quinn keeps their arms linked the entire time, and Rachel can smell her perfume and see the way the warm air curls her hair further.

“Where are we going?” Rachel asks, her gaze on Quinn’s profile. She’s so much better to look at that the city of Rome, surely.

“It’s this bar called Campari,” Quinn answers. “Apparently, they have some of the best cocktails in the city.”

Rachel licks her lips. “We’re drinking?”

Quinn glances at her. “We don’t have to,” she says. “I just - well, it’s be nice to try some of Italy’s most famous drinks. We can just sip them. Nobody’s getting drunk, I promise.”

Rachel blinks. “I'm not much of a drinker,” she confesses, even though she's sure this is something Quinn probably already knows about her. “I hosted this party for the Glee Club last year… and it was a complete disaster.” She laughs for a moment. “I'm not a very… calm drunk.”

“Oh?”

“Clingy, mainly,” she says. “I don't really like the feeling of being so out of control.”

“Me neither,” Quinn says. “Unless, of course, it's what I want.” She sighs. “Sometimes, I just want to… let go, you know? Just forget that I'm this person with responsibilities and with people watching my every move and with this part about me I've convinced myself I have to hide.”

Rachel just really wants to kiss the sadness from the hard set of her mouth.

Quinn bumps her with her hip, a sudden smile on her face. “Last year, I lost a bet to Noah, and I had to bake space brownies for us,” she says. “Trippiest night of my entire life.”

Rachel giggles at the mere thought of a Quinn high on marijuana. “What was it like?”

Quinn hums in thought. “It was nice,” she finally says. “It was like all my worries just… faded, for a little while. They were still there, obviously, but it was as if they didn't bother me. Even if it was for just a short time, it was nice… just… being.” She turns her head to look at Rachel. “Sometimes, I feel that way when I'm with you.”

Rachel squeezes her arm, blushing despite herself. “You already got the girl, you know,” she points out.

“That's only half the battle, Rach,” Quinn says. “Now, I have to make sure I keep her.”

Rachel can hear something severe in her tone, and she audibly swallows. “I'm not going anywhere, Quinn,” she says, because she gets the feeling she needs to say the words as much as Quinn needs to hear them. “You've got me. I'm right here, and I love you, and this is it.” She breathes out. “This is it,” she adds.

Quinn glances at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Rachel confirms, and that seems to be all Quinn needs, as she continues leading them towards the bar. Something seems to have settled between them, but she can't realistically put a finger on it. Maybe she'll figure it out later.

Campari isn't really what Rachel expects, though she wouldn't be able to explain what she envisioned if anyone were to ask. It's dark, the lighting dim and the furniture a dark wood that speaks of sophistication. There's music, a live band, with a few couples dancing somewhere in the back. It's fancy, really, high-end, and Rachel thinks Quinn fits in here far better than she ever will.

Quinn walks with a certain confidence as she leads them to a high table with two bar stools. She acts as if she belongs, and it permeates through the air like a radiation wave. Nobody would think to question her presence, and Rachel is oddly mesmerised.

Quinn disappears for a moment, and returns with a drinks’ menu, which the two of them pore over from their seats. Rachel doesn’t recognise any of the names. Well, she’s not really bothering to try, because she’s currently out _on the town_ with her girlfriend, and it means everything in this moment.

They can do this.

One day, they’re going to do this.

“Okay,” Quinn finally declares. “I'm going to order. I'll be right back.”

After a quick kiss to her cheek, Rachel watches Quinn go for a moment, before her eyes sweep across the large room in an attempt to take in all of it. If she were so inclined, she could almost forget she's in Italy.

But, she is. She's in Rome, in a dark bar, with the only girl she's ever wanted. The entire combination is heady, and she has no idea how this evening is going to end.

Before she can ponder on it any more, Quinn is back with a single glass of dark liquor and a soft smile. There's excitement in her eyes as she resumes her seat and looks at Rachel.

“Hi,” Rachel finds herself saying.

“This is a Negroni,” Quinn says, gesturing to the drink. “It’s one of the most famous Italian drinks, made with gin, Campari and Sweet Vermouth.”

Rachel regards the glass carefully, taking in the dark liquid and orange peel garnish. “I think I’ve heard the name before,” she says.

Quinn nods, and then lifts the drink to her lips. “Television is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes,” Rachel says, watching Quinn take a sip of the drink, her eyes automatically closing at the taste. She's so beautiful like this, relaxed and free, and this is what Rachel wants for her. Always.

“That's good,” Quinn finally concludes, setting the glass on the table and sliding it across for Rachel to have a taste. “I think you're going to like it.”

“Why do you say that?”

Quinn just shrugs, and Rachel uses the silence to try the drink. Of course, Quinn is right about her liking it, but she’s not going to admit it, even if the look on her face probably, definitely, gives her away.

Still, Quinn asks, “So, what’s the verdict?”

“You already know,” Rachel grumbles, taking another sip and handing it back to Quinn. “It’s quite strong, though. I don’t think I would order it for myself.”

“But, you’d let me order it for you?”

“I think you’ll find I would let you do a lot of things for me,” Rachel muses.

“And, _to_ you,” Quinn says, grinning widely.

Rachel just shakes her head, easily settling into this banter. She feels free, light in some way, and she doesn’t think it’s to do with the alcohol she’s just consumed. At least, not entirely. She doesn’t think she’s that much of a lightweight. Surely.

Between the two of them, they finish the drink around casual conversation, and then Quinn is going to order their next one, excitement shining in her eyes at what new concoction they’re going to be trying.

Rachel uses the time Quinn is away to look around again, her focus usually centred on Quinn and Quinn alone. The room is slightly fuller than it was, and she’s thrown slightly by the fact nobody really seems to be paying attention to them. It’s odd. They’re young, yes, and they’re two girls here together. She’s certain they would have received quite a few curious looks if they were still in America.

She and Quinn can both be considered ‘classically European’ in their own ways. Quinn is blonde and green-eyed, tall and just stunning. And Rachel is brunette, brown-eyed, olive-skinned and has the kind of facial features to fit in quite nicely.

Still.

It’s so different.

It’s amazing, and she’s going to enjoy every second of getting to be this free.


	8. Chapter 8

**VIII**

Rachel mentions the feeling of being free in this new place to Quinn when the blonde gets back, but Quinn seems less fascinated by it than Rachel is. Maybe it's because she's been to Europe before, who knows?

"So, what is it with all these orange twists?" Rachel asks, eyeing the glass Quinn has set in front of her with some trepidation. It's a Balloon Glass, and she has the crazy urge to rub her cheek against the condensation on the clear material.

"We're in Italy," is Quinn's response, as she shifts on her stool. "This is an Aperol Spritz."

"Sounds fancy."

Quinn eyes her carefully. "I think you're more of a lightweight than you initially said."

"No."

Quinn shakes her head. "Anyway, this one is made with Prosecco - "

"I know that one," Rachel interjects, smiling widely.

"Aperol and soda water," Quinn finishes, clearly amused.

"What is Aperol?"

"It's what gives the drink its orange colour," she says. "Slightly sweeter and lower in alcohol, which I think is needed, because you already look halfway gone, and we've had one drink."

"I'm fine."

Quinn reaches over and flicks her nose. "Sure you are," she says. "Drink up."

Rachel tastes first this time, unsure what to expect. She likes the name, and she's tasted Prosecco before while at home with her fathers. "Ooh," she finally declares. "I like that one." Her eyes are wide, and Quinn just chuckles at her reaction. "I _really_ like that one."

Quinn allows her another sip before she reaches for the glass to try it for herself. It's probably a little too sweet for her taste, but it is nice. She can see why Rachel would like it.

As a result, Rachel drinks more of it, and it takes them a bit longer to get through it, both of them too enamoured with the other to pay attention to the pace of their drinking.

Many long minutes later, Quinn is musing about what their next potential drink should be, and Rachel almost bounces right off her seat in excitement. The alcohol is _definitely_ hitting her, and it feels _good_. Having Quinn here and just feeling all of this - it's like nothing she's experienced before.

"What?" Quinn suddenly asks.

Rachel blinks. "What what?"

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like that."

Rachel just smiles, saying nothing.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "It's probably a terrible idea, but I'm going to get our next drink now, okay?" She laughs to herself. "We have a list, and I'm not going to let your inability to hold your liquor mess it up."

Rachel grins at her. "Priorities."

Quinn presses a kiss to the top of her head, and then disappears. Rachel might have turned to watch her go, but she's a little dizzy, and she really doesn't want to fall off this stool.

When Quinn returns, she has their drink, two glasses of water and a small basket of bread rolls with her. Her smile is entirely too knowing as she asks, "And, how are we doing over here?"

Rachel rolls her eyes as she reaches for a glass of water. She takes several large gulps before giving Quinn her full attention - well, as full as her inebriation allows.

"I think this is my dad's favourite drink now," Quinn says, her speech slightly slower than normal. "It's all he's been drinking since we got here."

"I thought it looked familiar."

"They call it The Godfather," she says, giggling softly. "Apparently, it was Marlon Brando's favourite drink."

"Oh?"

"Unconfirmed, but who's going to contradict it?" Quinn says with a grin. "It's made with Amaretto and Bourbon Whiskey."

"Your dad is a fan of his Bourbon," Rachel says, recalling Russell's preferences. "Do you like it?"

Quinn brings the Rock Glass to her lips. "We'll see," she says, and then takes a sip, humming as the smooth liquid trails down her throat, coating it.

Rachel watches her closely, her eyes automatically drifting to the bob of her perfect, pale throat. "It's good, isn't it?"

Quinn hands her the glass. "Easy," she says when Rachel almost drops it. "It's a stiff drink for a reason, baby."

"I'm already drunk."

"As long as you can admit it."

"I think I've been drunk on you since we met."

Quinn laughs. "Oh, boy," she says. "Why didn't you tell me you turn into a cheesy sap when you're pumped full of alcohol?"

Rachel just looks at her. "Too many words," she mumbles, and then takes a hearty sip of the drink.

"Whoa," Quinn says, her hand automatically reaching out to take the drink back. "Slowly, Berry," she warns. "Maybe you should have some bread."

Rachel pouts adorably. "Is it vegan?"

Quinn blinks. "Oh," she murmurs. "I didn't ask."

"And you claim _I'm_ the drunk one."

Quinn drags the basket of bread towards herself, smiling dopily. "I love you."

Rachel just hums, and then sips more of her water in an attempt to quell the effect of the alcohol in her veins. It feels foreign, but it also feels so good. It's even better that she's here with Quinn, and she wouldn't trade this moment for anything else.

"Quinn?" Rachel suddenly says, and they both startle at the sound of her voice.

Quinn blinks slowly. "Yes?"

Rachel opens her mouth to say something, but immediately snaps it shut.

"Baby, what?"

"I forgot what I wanted to say, so I'm just going to go with 'I love you.'"

Quinn grins at her, her eyes shining. "I love you, too," she says, as if it's the easiest thing she's ever said in her life, and Rachel imagines it actually is. Quinn has never been shy of expressing her love, and it always manages to catch Rachel off guard.

Until Quinn, Rachel was convinced she was an affectionate being, but there's something about the way Quinn loves. It's in literally everything she does. Every breath she exhales, her eyes showcasing profound feeling and her entire being leaning towards Rachel in a way that can't be misunderstood.

Quinn loves with everything, and Rachel feels it. She doesn't need the alcohol to be intoxicated when she's in the blonde's presence.

But, it certainly amplifies it.

The last drink Quinn orders is nothing like Rachel's ever seen. "Ooh," Rachel says, almost dancing in her seat when Quinn returns to her own, stumbling slightly. "It's blue."

Quinn grins at her. "It's called an Angelo Azzurro, and it's made with Cointreau, Limoncello, Gin and Sweet Vermouth."

"I like that word," Rachel says. "Say it again."

"Which one?"

"Limon - "

"Limoncello?"

Rachel hums, allowing the alcohol to seep further into her system. "It sounds so sexy," she says. " _You_ sound so sexy."

Quinn just smiles at her, and then pushes the drink towards her. "Try it. Let's see if it tastes as exciting as it looks."

It does; it definitely does, and Rachel eventually slips off her stool and crosses the small space between them, because, apparently, the drink has made her excitable.

"Dance with me," Rachel says - or slurs, if Quinn is being critical.

Quinn glances around. There isn't much of a dancing crowd, given the type of bar this is, but there are a few couples swaying to the soft music.

"Please," Rachel pouts.

Quinn meets her gaze, as clouded as it is. "And, we're actually going to dance, right?" she asks. "This isn't just an excuse to grope me, is it?"

Rachel just giggles, and then holds out her hand. "Dance with me, Quinn?"

"What if I say no?"

"You won't."

Quinn tilts her head to the side. "You sound very sure of yourself there, Berry."

"I am."

"And, why is that?"

"Because you love me," Rachel says. "And you would take any opportunity to put your hands on my body."

Quinn visibly fights a grin. "I don't need the excuse of dancing with you to do that," she says.

Rachel huffs out an exasperated breath. "Please can you just dance with me," she says. "I want to hold you. Right here, right now, with all these people around us, without a care for what they might say or do."

"Are you sure you're drunk?" Quinn asks, already slipping off her stool and sliding her hand into Rachel's waiting one. "That was very eloquent."

"I'm just full of surprises," Rachel says, and her answering smile is sloppy and sly. "Dance with me," she whines. "Please." She's pouting now, and Quinn just laughs as she finally allows herself to be dragged towards the makeshift dance floor.

God, she'd follow this incredible human being anywhere.

Anywhere, this time, is the dance floor, their bodies so tightly pressed against each other that it might actually be indecent. They're inebriated enough not to care.

It's freeing, really, and Quinn can't resist kissing Rachel's mouth just because she can. They kiss for a while, just swaying, and Quinn has the crazy thought that she could do this for forever.

She _can_.

"We should go," Rachel suddenly says, snapping back. "I want to keep kissing you, but…" she trails off, hoping Quinn will understand what she's trying to say.

Quinn just nods.

Getting the tab settled is quick, and then they're rushing back to the hotel.

Quinn will laugh about it in the morning, and Rachel will flush prettily, because Quinn disappears into the bathroom to _freshen up_ and comes back to find Rachel passed out on the sheets.

Well.

Quinn finds it cute enough not to be disappointed, and she revels in the fact she'll get to tease Rachel about it in the morning.

* * *

The next place they visit is Napoli, for only one night. It's a grittier town, a little darker than Rome in some regard.

They go on a walking tour of the city, and Judy complains endlessly about the heat as they worm their way through the various crowds on the streets. Rachel can't be sure she actually likes the city, and she can't be sure exactly why.

All she knows is she's relieved they're spending only one night here.

Because -

Well.

"Quinn?"

Quinn looks away from the large church looming on their right side. "Hmm?"

"Don't look back, but I think there's a man following us."

Quinn visibly tenses, but she keeps walking, slowing her pace slightly. "Are you sure?" Quinn asks, her voice low.

"I noticed him a few minutes ago, but I didn't think anything of it until we turned the corner and he was still there," she says. "I tend to notice all the people who ogle you."

Quinn glances at her. "You say that like they're a lot of them," she points out.

"Well."

Quinn laughs softly. "Maybe I don't notice because I'm too busy ogling you."

"Maybe," Rachel allows. "But, that doesn't really detract from the fact there's a literal creepy older dude currently stalking us."

Quinn sighs. "Maybe he's just a fan," she suggests, even though she suddenly feels on edge. She very carefully steers them towards where Russell is currently taking a picture of Judy as she stands in front of the church they've stopped in front of.

She doesn't say anything to either of her parents, but she and Rachel remain close to them for the next twenty minutes.

"Is he still following?" Quinn asks.

Rachel doesn't look behind her, because she already knows the answer is, "Yes."

"He'll have to get bored eventually," Quinn says, but she's obviously on edge, if the way she nibbles on her bottom lip is anything to go by. She glances at Rachel. "This has actually happened to me before."

"Oh?"

"In New York," she says. "Sometimes, I get recognised by... unsavoury people, I guess. My mom sent me to this self-defence class the first time I told her I felt... unsafe."

Rachel links her arm with Quinn's. "So, what you're saying is that you can take down anyone who comes at you."

"Not anyone," she says. "But, I could probably hold my own enough to give you time to get away."

Rachel frowns. "As if I would ever just leave you," she practically scoffs.

Quinn rolls her eyes.

"And, how much convincing did Judy have to do to get you to agree, anyway? What with your precious money-making hands and all?"

Quinn stops walking and looks at her, her gaze serious and her shoulders tense. "I know I joke about that a lot, Rachel, but I need you to know that I will always do what I can to protect you. We're in a relationship, you and me, and not everyone will understand that, and maybe they'll try to place all these gender roles on us, or worry that we can't exist properly as a couple in society. But, we can. We will. We are. I love you, and I promise to keep you safe, okay. My stupid hands be damned."

Rachel breathes out, slightly overwhelmed by the unexpected declaration. "God, I am so in love with you."

Quinn pulls her into a hug, squeezing her tightly. "There's little I can do when you're in Lima and I'm in New York, but I promise to make sure you never hurt when we're together, okay?"

Rachel buries her face in the crook of Quinn's neck, inhaling deeply and then pressing hidden kisses against a pale throat. "I love you," she whispers. "I love you, I love you."

Quinn hugs her for another few moments, and then slowly releases her. "Come on," she says. "I feel like a milkshake."

Rachel smiles knowingly. "I think, if it weren't so hot, you'd probably want a coffee."

"God," she groans. "I would kill for a vanilla latte right now."

"Maybe we can find you an iced coffee," she says.

"No," Quinn whines. "It's not the same."

"And you call me a drama queen."

Quinn laughs. "Says the girl who changed three times this morning."

"I had to dress appropriately to bid farewell to Rome, Quinn," she says, and then holds up a hand to stop the blonde's rebuttal. "Don't call me ridiculous."

"I was going to call you cute," Quinn says. "Because, you are. So cute. Adorable, really. I love you."

Potential stalker sufficiently forgotten, Rachel slips her hand into Quinn's, interlacing their fingers, and then gets them walking again. Judy and Russell are further up ahead, and Rachel is going to allow herself to enjoy this moment for what it is.

Eventually, they stop at a little café, and Quinn orders a milkshake, Rachel a lemonade, Judy a glass of chilled Prosecco, and Russell an ice cold beer. It's difficult for Rachel to relax when their stalker finds a table of his own in the same café, and Quinn has to mention it to Russell, particularly when Rachel looks so uncomfortable.

"How long?" Russell asks, his back straightening.

Rachel slumps slightly. "I don't know," she says; "I noticed him about forty-five minutes ago, though."

Russell exchanges a look with Judy. "We'll go back to the hotel after this, okay," he says. "We should lose him that way, and then we can just have dinner at one of the restaurants around the hotel. I don't know about you ladies, but this walk has tired me out. It's also fucking hot."

"Russell," Judy chastises, and he just winks at her.

"Sounds good, Dad," Quinn says. And, then, because she's Russell's daughter, she adds, "And, you're right; it is fucking hot."

"Quinn!" Judy squeaks, and they all burst out laughing.

Stalker be damned.

* * *

Leaving Napoli sees them pass through Pompeii on their way to their new destination. Rachel isn't sure what to expect, but it leaves her deeply unsettled, being in a place that was buried in lava and ash in 79AD.

She even shudders when they encounter the casts of the human bodies that succumbed to the volcano, and she turns away, burying her face against Quinn's shoulder.

Quinn rubs her arm soothingly, and then proceeds to tease her about the actual mini red light district they find. Quinn thinks it's hilarious that, even so long ago, people paid for sex. They even have pictures painted on the walls, depicting what a person could order.

"That doesn't look particularly comfortable," Quinn murmurs, standing entirely too close behind her. Rachel can even feel the blonde's breath against her neck, and she shivers.

Rachel glances over her shoulder. "What? You can't imagine being bent that way."

Quinn's eyebrows shoot up. "Why would _I_ be bent that way?"

"Maximum pleasure."

Quinn breathes out slowly. "Jesus."

Rachel smiles innocently, and then reaches up to kiss her cheek. "I don't think they were all that worried about comfort," she muses. "In the heat of the moment, who would be?" And, then, she walks away, leaving Quinn to stare after her with wide eyes and an open mouth.

Well, well.

* * *

The second they arrive in Sorrento, Rachel knows this is going to be her favourite place they're going to visit.

She also knows this is the place she's going to lose her virginity.

As soon as the thought crosses her mind, she turns her head to look over at Quinn, whose own eyes are tracking the scenery around them. Rachel knows Quinn has been here once before, merely passing through, and she fell in love with it then, and now it's Rachel's turn.

Rachel reaches for Quinn's hand, easily linking their fingers and getting Quinn to look at her. "It's beautiful."

"Oh, baby," Quinn murmurs; "you haven't seen anything yet."

In Rachel's research, she's read endlessly about the Amalfi Coast, and the pictures she's seen leave her buzzing with excitement and expectation.

Well, it's that, and the fact that, in the three nights they're going to be spending here, she's probably, definitely, going to be taking a giant step towards perceived womanhood. She and Quinn have talked about it, somewhat, but they haven't discussed if they're ready for that step... together.

They're both virgins. Rachel has done her research, and she can only wonder if Quinn is apprehensive about what's involved when it's two women instead of, well, not.

When they arrive at the hotel, Quinn barely gives Rachel any time to get settled in their room before she's dragging her back out and down onto the cobbled streets. There are people everywhere, and there's something just uniquely Italian about this town that has Rachel gripping Quinn's hand tighter and smiling wider than she ever has.

"What are they doing?" Rachel asks, watching as several men put together what looks like a platform in the middle of the street.

Quinn looks around, searching for some kind of poster. "Ah," she says. "It looks like some kind of Spring Parade. Music, dancing, speeches, other performers." She looks over at Rachel. "You reckon they'll have a talent competition?"

"Uh, I don't know."

"You should enter if there is," Quinn says. "Come on, let's go see if there's a place where you can sign up."

There is, apparently, and Quinn signs them up, because Rachel insists she'll do it only if Quinn plays the piano for her. Quinn happily agrees, and then they spend the next hour trying to figure out what they're going to perform and rehearsing.

Quinn doesn't mention it to her parents until after they've had an early dinner, the four of them setting out to explore the stores and enjoy the music. There's a band currently playing on the stage, and there are also two men walking around, beating at African drums and inviting people to join in.

Judy gets dragged in, and she laughs gloriously as she hits the drum - completely offbeat - and one of the men twirls her, and the moon is bright, and Italy is officially Rachel's favourite place in the world.

Quinn walks with a certain confidence here. A type of arrogance that makes Rachel ache for her in ways she hasn't before. It doesn't help that Quinn's arm is casually slung around her shoulders, and the blonde keeps pressing kisses to her temple and cheek.

At some point, Quinn drags her into a store that sells bathing suits, funky underwear and crazy socks. She ends up buying Noah three pairs of boxers: one with the Italian flag, another with _Spongebob Squarepants_ , and the last with, well, _David_ by Michelangelo's... particular assets.

Rachel blushes, and Quinn laughs.

"Noah is going to love them," Quinn says as they head back to the hotel to get changed for their upcoming performance. Quinn questioned why it was even necessary, but Rachel insisted. A performance is a performance, and she has to look the part.

After quick showers, they both put on summer dresses, simple makeup and comfortable shoes, and then head back out. The streets are even fuller as they shift into the late evening, and Quinn's nerves start to kick in before Rachel's.

"Why are we doing this again?"

"You're the one who wanted to," Rachel points out as they sign in and get given a number. Based on what they've already seen of the talent on offer, there's a real chance they could do quite well.

"I don't even know what we win," Quinn says, glancing around. "Do you think it's something like a lifetime of pizza? Because, I could definitely go for that."

"You don't even live here, Quinn," Rachel points out, unnecessary as they both know it is.

"They can mail it to me."

"Gross."

"Frozen, maybe," Quinn muses. "It's something to think about."

"Maybe we'll win some kind of tour," Rachel offers.

"Ooh," Quinn perks up. "They do have those shellfish tours on the Amalfi Coast. Wouldn't it be cool to catch our own food, and then cook it too?"

Rachel just gives her a very significant look, and Quinn winces.

"Right. Sorry." She leans down to kiss Rachel's cheek. "We love the animals. We really do."

"Because, they taste so good?"

"That, too," Quinn says with a grin. "But, you've seen my mom's fish tank. She loves her fish. She's even been talking about getting - " she stops. "Well, that won't work because we don't even have a backyard. She really hasn't thought that through."

"Thought what through?"

"Ducks."

"Your mom wants ducks?"

"I really think she has this fantasy of living on a farm one day, with all these domestic animals: chickens, goats, you name it."

Rachel smiles warmly. "I think I can see it," she muses. "Judy, giving up her heels and pencil skirts and fabulous New York life, and retiring on some farm in the middle of nowhere. I can definitely see it."

"My dad wants a vineyard, instead."

"Trouble in paradise," Rachel teases. "And, where are you in this future scenario?"

"Wherever you are."

Rachel smiles widely, absently leaning in and resting her head on Quinn's shoulder. She's honestly never felt more relaxed and content and just serene in her entire life, and she would love nothing more than to bottle up this moment and just breathe into it.

"I have this dream," Quinn murmurs, sounding drunk on something. "Of us, just the two of us, coming back here in the future."

Rachel waits patiently.

"We're out," Quinn says, almost whispering. "We're out and we're happy and our careers are both on track and everything is as good as it can possibly be... until we come here, and I - "

Rachel frowns. "You what?"

"This is where I'm going to ask you to marry me," Quinn says, smiling sheepishly. "One day. In this city, you're going to agree to be my wife."

Rachel breathes out slowly. "That's - that's awfully presumptuous of you, don't you think?"

Quinn grins at her. "Is it?"

Rachel flushes. "No."

"Thought so."

"I love you."

Quinn's smile turns soft, gentle. "I love you, too."

They settle into comfortable silence, and Quinn does her best not to panic about the fact they're about to perform on a stage in a foreign country.

"Is this thing televised?" Quinn suddenly asks. "God, what if it's televised?"

Rachel giggles. "Even if it is, I'm certain it's only local television, Quinn," she says. "I'm sure your adoring fans will never learn of this endeavour."

"You mock me, but this could also come back to bite you in the ass when you're rich and famous," Quinn quips, grumbling slightly. "I can see it now: this video coming out right before - "

A voice catches their attention, interrupting Quinn's spiel. "Are you number nineteen?"

Quinn blinks, and then nods. "We are."

"You're up next." The voice belongs to an Italian man. A boy, really, and he waves them forward to get them into position to lead onto the stage. Quinn feels her heart start to race, but Rachel's warm hand in her own keeps her grounded.

It's going to be fine. She's been playing piano for years. They've practiced the song, sort of, and she knows she probably won't mess up, maybe. She just doesn't want to mess this up for Rachel.

Well.

When it's time, Quinn leads the way onto the stage and they get a smattering of applause - that is probably _all_ Russell and Judy Fabray. Quinn really loves her parents, and Rachel's starting to love them too.

The song, itself, isn't at all upbeat. It's _Make You Feel My Lov_ e, and there's only one way to sing it. Rachel does it complete justice, and Quinn has never been more in love with her than in this moment.

And the moment after, when Rachel looks at her with all the affection in the world. The feeling is amazing; just knowing there's this girl in the world who loves her so openly and so freely, even if their relationship is hidden.

Well, it's not hidden right now, because Quinn is smiling back at her as her fingers move over the keys with such ease that it's difficult to imagine Quinn has prioritised her cooking over this other talent.

Rachel gets momentarily distracted by Quinn's fingers and what they could possibly do to her, but she's able to allow muscle memory to her through the song, bringing it to its end and earning themselves a healthy applause.

They don't win, which isn't much of a surprise. Quinn reckons it might be because they're actually foreigners, but Rachel doesn't want to speculate. It's a surprise to her that she's really all that interested in winning, anyway, being the competitive person she is. She just wanted to perform with Quinn, and now she can scratch it off her Bucket List and then some.

"What else is on this elusive list?" Quinn asks her as the two of them stroll through the market, having already bid goodnight to Quinn's parents.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I would," Quinn deadpans. "That's why I asked."

Rachel giggles as she links their arms together. She has a response on the tip of her tongue, but it gets stolen when two boys are suddenly standing right in front of them. Rachel recognises one as the boy who called them to the stage, but the other is a complete stranger.

Their accents are heavily Italian, which she would probably find attractive if she were so inclined. Quinn handles most of the conversation, which is really just the boys inviting them out to a club. It seems friendly enough, and there's another small group of teenagers standing just behind them, both boys and girls, which eases some of Quinn's apprehension.

Still, she turns to Rachel to find out what she wants to do, and that is really how both girls find themselves surrounded by Italian teenagers in a dark club with expensive martinis in front of them.

There's a girl, Antonella, who suggests flavours for them to try, and there's a boy, Sami, who asks them questions about what life is like in America. Rachel answers with gusto, her body always within touching distance of Quinn. The group, itself, is nice, and they seem to enjoy Quinn's attempts at speaking Italian. She even strikes up a conversation about Italian pastries with a girl called Rebecca, which has Rachel rolling her eyes and smiling fondly.

"You have to try this one!" Antonella's voice suddenly says, returning to their set of tables with a tray of drinks. "I've been saving it for last. It's my favourite."

Quinn eyes the drink placed in front of her with a critical eye. "What is it?"

"It's an espresso martini," Antonella says.

The boy from the talent competition leans forward slightly, getting into Quinn's space, and says, "Coffee and alcohol. Italy's two favourite things."

Quinn looks slightly sceptical, and looks at Rachel. "You'll make sure I get home, right?"

"Of course," she assures.

Quinn just smiles at her, eyes twinkling as she moves to take a sip of her espresso martini. "Jesus Christ!" she suddenly hisses, grimacing. "I'm pretty sure that could raise the dead."

Rachel can't help her laugh, along with a few others, as she absently leans into her girlfriend and blatantly ignores the attention of the two boys who are very clearly interested in them. Alfonso has had eyes for Quinn since they stepped off the stage, and his friend, Tony, hasn't even tried to be discreet about the way he's been checking out Rachel.

Rachel is tempted to kiss her in front of them, just to lay her claim. It isn't as if they're not acting like a couple, but their affection can easily be mistaken for a really close friendship. Particularly between girls. In Europe.

Antonella seems to have caught on, though, and she and Rachel exchange amused looks as Alfonso continually attempts to flirt with a disinterested Quinn.

While Rachel can find it amusing, Quinn doesn't have the same reaction when Tony manages to catch and hold Rachel's attention for any amount of time. Rachel feels her tension before she sees it, and she can't tell if she should be irritated by it or find it flattering and endearing.

Tony is good-looking, sure, but Rachel is gay and in love with the most stunning girl in the world. It's easy for Rachel to reach up and kiss Quinn's cheek in platitude, whispering, "We both know whom I go home with tonight," into Quinn's ear, and marvelling at the way she seems to relax.

Their evening out doesn't last too much longer after that, and Rachel allows Quinn to begin their farewells. Their new group of friends look genuinely gutted to see them go, but Quinn offers Antonella, Sami and Rebecca their phone numbers in an exchange, and Rachel wonders if ever they'll be used.

"I'm cashing in on that meatball recipe," Quinn tells Rebecca, and Rachel has the answer to her silent question.

Quinn grips her hand tightly as they leave, and Rachel has to wonder if Quinn is more drunk than she seems. Rachel has a sip of that espresso martini and she immediately felt the rush, so she can only imagine how Quinn feels after downing the entire thing.

Still, her gait is relatively steady, but they're both leaning on each other, so Rachel can't be too sure. She's passed tipsy herself, but that doesn't take much. As odd as the evening out was, she's glad for it. They got to spend time with some young people, and she didn't even realise how much she missed it.

Being young and free with Quinn. It's really all she wants. Just Quinn.

They stumble their way through the lobby of the hotel, the lights too bright and the room too quiet. The elevator ride is spent in silence with a much older couple, who keep eyeing them with curiosity and disapproval.

Quinn kisses Rachel's neck to get them to avert their gazes, and both girls get immense pleasure from their reaction, even giggling for good measure.

They make it to their hotel room without incident, and Rachel is still fighting off her fit of giggles as she pushes through the door, hearing Quinn follow behind her. It takes her until the door has clicked shut to realise Quinn isn't making a sound.

She turns around, confused, until she sees the blonde; sees the way Quinn is just staring at her, those hazel eyes dark and slightly unfocused.

Well, they seem to have zeroed in on exactly one thing: Rachel Berry. There's a certain hunger that almost makes Rachel want to retreat.

She stays exactly where she is.

Quinn closes the space between them in an instant, her hands grabbing for Rachel's hips and pushing her backwards until she's pressed against the wall of the hotel room, the air escaping her lungs at the impact.

Even though she already knows, Rachel still stammers out, "What are you doing?"

Quinn's eyes grow impossibly darker, and she responds by burying her face against her neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark.

Rachel's breath catches, and she has a fleeting thought that this is the first mark Quinn has left this holiday that she's really going to have to hide. Her hands automatically reach up to rest on Quinn's shoulders, but the blonde moves first, snatching hold of her wrists and pinning them against the wall.

The gasp Rachel releases is quickly turned into a startled moan when Quinn's mouth covers her own, her tongue immediately slipping through parted lips.

Quinn eventually releases Rachel's wrists, dragging her fingers across the fabric of her jacket until they reach the lapels. Pressing her body closer and holding Rachel in place, Quinn tugs the jacket off Rachel's shoulders and lets it drop to the floor beside them.

Rachel groans deep in her throat, absently wondering if she should be telling Quinn to stop. They're obviously both inebriated, and she doesn't want -

"Oh, God," she gasps when Quinn's knee slips between her legs, pushing her dress upwards. She's not actually making any contact with her yet, but the sheer idea of it has her scrambling for Quinn's shoulders, torn between pulling her closer and pushing her away.

Quinn just keeps kissing her, slowly undoing the zip of her shirt until it falls open and her hands splay over the taut muscles she finds on Rachel's back, eventually crawling their way up and over her shoulders towards her breasts and squeezing hard.

Rachel sucks in a sharp, desperate breath, her head thudding back against the wall.

Quinn's mouth returns to its favourite position at the base of Rachel's throat, and her eyes flutter open, her breathing laboured. Her head is swimming, and she's overwhelmed by everything Quinn.

They really shouldn't be doing this.

Not like this.

"Quinn," she forces out. "Quinn, baby, you're drunk. We can't - "

Her protests are immediately cut off by Quinn's lips as they find their way back onto hers, her tongue working its way past barely-protesting lips and slowly, languidly beginning to reach for every inch of Rachel's mouth.

Rachel groans again, slowly allowing her arms to slide around Quinn's neck as she finally permits herself to give in a little, her own tongue reaching out to meet Quinn's. She immediately feels Quinn grin against her lips, and then the leg between her legs shifts further forward and all thoughts escape her.

"Quinn," Rachel mutters, and she doesn't know if it's a warning or if she's actually begging for more.

Regardless of how it sounds, Quinn goes for the latter, and Rachel gasps loudly when Quinn forces the weight of Rachel's body onto the flat surface of her thigh, anchoring her.

"Oh." Rachel's eyes slam shut, and her fingers lace through Quinn's hair. Before she can even register what's happening, her hips start to roll forward to meet Quinn's thigh of their own accord, and it's as if there's nothing to be done to stop them.

Quinn's hands slide around her, dragging the dress down as her nails rake down her bare back. Her senses are all drowning in Quinn: smell, touch and taste. She can hear Quinn's soft moans, and she's sure that opening her eyes will show her just how much Quinn wants this as well.

But, they can't.

"Quinn," she says, and this time it's obvious it's a warning.

Quinn seems to realise this, finally, and pulls back as something wickedly dark flashes through the hazel of her eyes. "Hmm," she sounds, as if contemplating what she's going to do. After a moment, she leans forward to press a kiss against Rachel's pouting lips.

And then her hand moves to unclasp Rachel's bra, and that's the decision right there. Quinn's movements speed up as she pools Rachel's dress at her abdomen and then tugs the bra away, exposing her chest to a clouded hazel gaze.

Rachel's head thuds back against the wall again, the sound of Quinn's name hissing from her mouth, which gets a smirk out of Quinn as her hands come up to cup Rachel's bare breasts.

She leans forwards to catch Rachel's bottom lip between her teeth and gently tugs it downwards. All Rachel knows is she needs to keep breathing, or she really will die at the hands of Quinn.

Hands that are now massaging her breasts and getting sounds out of her that would be embarrassing in any other setting. Now, though, she's sure they're both worryingly aroused by everything happening right now.

Rachel knows they need to slow down. It's not supposed to be like this, and she really needs them to come back to their senses.

"Quinn, please."

Quinn presses against her even harder and moves her mouth to Rachel's ear. "Okay," she murmurs. "Okay."

"Quinn..."

"It's okay."

"I don't - I don't want it to be like this," Rachel manages to say.

"I know," Quinn whispers, sighing. "I'm sorry. I just - "

Rachel tugs her head back to look at her face. "Tomorrow," she says breathlessly. "Tomorrow. When we're both sober and you're not just reacting to some idiot attempting to put his hands on me."

Quinn looks thrown for a moment.

"It's okay," Rachel assures her.

Quinn presses her lips back against Rachel's, more softly this time; easing Rachel's mouth open and curling her tongue through it. They stay like that for the longest time, just kissing as Rachel stays, topless, and Quinn shifts her thigh away from its tantalising position.

Quinn eventually slows the kiss to a stop and rests her forehead against Rachel's, their breathing falling in sync.

"Tomorrow," Quinn whispers.

"Tomorrow," Rachel confirms, and, if her voice wavers, neither of them mentions it.

* * *

Rachel almost expects the next day to be awkward, but it's really not. Not even a little bit. She wakes at the normal time, her body wrapped up in Quinn's, and the fact that all she's wearing is her panties and one of Quinn's t-shirts doesn't worry either of them.

Quinn just kisses her _good morning_ , and then they start getting ready to face the day. Quinn promised her a day at the beach, and she intends to collect.

Which really seems like a brilliant idea, until Quinn strips herself of her tank top and denim shorts, and Rachel is left with the sight of her girlfriend's ridiculously toned body and warm skin that is barely hidden by a black polka-dotted bikini.

Quinn hires deck chairs for them, and Rachel sets up their towels and water bottles. Then, all she can do is stare helplessly as Quinn settles on her towel and begins to apply sunscreen lotion, her own hands moving over her legs in a way that has Rachel completely mesmerised. Captivated.

Caught, when Quinn suddenly says, "Please can you do my back," with all the smugness of someone who knows she's been ogled.

Rachel freezes, and Quinn gives her a very significant look. She spends another moment trying to compose herself, and then she shifts forward to, essentially, torture herself even further.

Quinn even lets out this soft, little moan, and Rachel is so lost. So, so lost.

If anyone were to ask her, she probably wouldn't be able to say what exactly she and Quinn did during the daylight hours. Aside from working on their tans, getting into the water several times and eating pizza and ice-cream, Rachel couldn't explain what was said or what was decided.

All she knows is that, at exactly seven-oh-four, Quinn says, "My parents are going out to dinner themselves," and then she's falling against Rachel with such a ferocity, that Rachel is forced back onto the bed in their hotel room, her head just about landing on a pillow, as Quinn settles her body on top of her.

She has only a second to register the change in plane before Quinn's lips are moving heatedly and purposefully on her own, her eyes slipping closed.

Quinn's short hair tickles at her forehead as her tongue gently eases open Rachel's mouth and dips inside, receiving a slow, drawn-out moan for her troubles. The sound fills the room, and it merely spurs Quinn on, her kiss bordering on a furious pace.

Rachel pushes her hands up the sides of Quinn's body, pulling at her tank top, tugging roughly until it's completely off and then throwing it somewhere over Quinn's shoulder. It gets her a soft giggle, and then a short gasp when her nails drag over sensitive skin.

Straddling Rachel's waist, Quinn begins to kiss her way down her exposed throat, dragging her lips all the way to the dip of her cleavage, shifting cotton out of the way. She brings her hands up to Rachel's breasts, firmly massaging and kneading them.

Rachel groans, her head rolling backwards and her back arching slightly beneath Quinn's body. Her hands trail up tense thighs, up to the curve of Quinn's hips. She holds them there, contemplating her next move. She knows what she wants, and she's almost desperate to put all her research to good use.

Quinn has her own plans as well, clearly, and she's pulling at her t-shirt, and ridding her of it so fast that Rachel doesn't even notice the change in light. Her bikini top is discarded moments later, and then Quinn's mouth is on her left breast, her tongue swirling and her teeth nipping.

Not to be outdone, Rachel scratches at the soft skin at Quinn's sides, feeling the first dents of her ribcage. She hears a sharp intake of breath from above her, and her eyes automatically open to see Quinn hovering over her, her own eyes bordering on wild and desperate.

As soon as their eyes lock, Quinn tumbles forward, her lips seeking the brunette's and forcing them open, groaning at the feel of nails digging into the curve of her waist. Her hands are back on Rachel's chest, carefully placed thumbs grazing against hard nipples.

Rachel moans loudly, biting down on Quinn's lower lip in an attempt to smother it, and she hears a giggle from somewhere above her. She allows her fingers to slip further up Quinn's body, seeking out the strap of her bikini top and gently tugging.

Quinn immediately leans back, away from Rachel and pulls at her own top, ridding herself of the last of the cover of her upper body. She's very aware of the two dark eyes that crawl up her body, from the impossibly tight dark blue denim shorts to the perfectly toned stomach, up to her panting chest.

It takes every ounce of strength Rachel possesses to tear her eyes away from the sight, meeting Quinn's gaze once more and smiling slightly.

"Why have you stopped kissing me?" Rachel asks, her voice low and breathless.

Quinn's features soften slightly, and the two of them just spend a few moments looking at each other. There's so much love in Quinn's gaze, and it's overwhelming and wonderful and just everything.

Eventually, Quinn falls forward again, her fingers slipping around Rachel's wrists and pinning them at the sides of her head as her lips once more seek out the perfect match for her own.

Rachel can feel Quinn's hips begin to roll against hers, and it's agony. They're wearing too many clothes. Her skirt is slowly riding upwards, exposing her bikini bottom to the fabric of Quinn's shorts, and it's torture.

With every one of Quinn's movements, Rachel hears herself moaning louder. Quinn's kiss is incapable of smothering the sounds echoing around the room, and Quinn forces herself to pull away from her.

"As amazing as you sound right now, I would rather have our neighbours _not_ issue a noise complaint," she says, slipping her hands down Rachel's body and firmly gripping her waist.

Rachel is breathing too heavily to form words. They're failing her, and why aren't they currently kissing, again?

She lets out an almost-growl as she reaches up, gripping the back of Quinn's neck and tugging her forwards until they're locked in another heated kiss. Hips roll, and Quinn can't seem to get a handle of herself. Her hands are everywhere, searching for exposed skin, and positively delighting at the fact that Rachel's thighs are actually available for her to touch.

So, she does.

She shifts down slightly, straddling Rachel's legs instead, and drags her nails along the perfect olive skin so deliciously on display. She's conflicted. She wants to touch everything. She wants to see everything.

One hand reaches for Rachel's right breast, and the other slides under her skirt, warm skin tempting her in all the best and worst ways.

She teases a stiff nipple between her thumb and forefinger, her brain almost short-circuiting when Rachel's hips buck upwards of their own accord.

"Please," Rachel whispers, and Quinn immediately leans forward, taking the other nipple into her mouth and hearing Rachel groan, the air catching in her throat as her head rolls backwards again.

Quinn runs her tongue over all the flesh on offer, tasting the salt of the sea and something that's uniquely Rachel Berry. She never wants to stop; it's impossible.

"Please," Rachel say again, and Quinn doesn't know what she's asking for. She drags her tongue to the valley between Rachel's breasts as her thigh slips between trembling thighs, the fabric of her shorts pressing directly against Rachel's aching core, causing her to cry out.

Oh.

That's what she's asking for.

Quinn takes a moment to be substantially pleased with herself, and she positively hisses when she feels Rachel reach down between them and cup her hand around her mound. Even through her shorts, Rachel can feel the desperate heat coming from her, making her smirk involuntarily.

"Oh, don't look so smug," Quinn forces out, and then eats her words when Rachel makes quick work of unbuttoning and unzipping the jeans shorts, and then settling her hand over only the fabric of Quinn's bikini bottoms instead.

"Oh, fuck," Quinn murmurs, her eyes slipping closed and her hips arching forward to meet the pressure.

Rachel is slightly hesitant, her hand sliding further down, her fingers pressing a hard line against soft, wet heat. She glances up at Quinn, surprised to find dark eyes watching her.

"It's okay," Quinn murmurs.

"I've never done this before," Rachel says. "I mean, not on anyone else," she adds a moment later, and Quinn groans, her hips shifting forward again.

"Just keep doing that," Quinn forces out. "Do whatever. I don't even care. Oh, God."

Rachel's fingers lift back up, and then grind down again. She keeps her eyes on what she's doing, fully aware of Quinn trembling above her, silently begging her for more.

Rachel finally meets Quinn's gaze. "Can we take these off?" she asks.

"Fuck, yes," Quinn says, immediately shifting back to rid herself of her own shorts.

"No," Rachel says, sitting up. "I want to do it."

Quinn freezes.

Rachel tugs on her belt loops. "Lie down for me."

For the first time, Quinn looks uncertain.

"It's okay," Rachel says, forcing her voice to remain steady. "It's okay, I promise. Just lie down. I'll take care of you."

It takes her a moment, but Quinn eventually nods, and then moves to lie beside Rachel, her eyes slightly wide and breathing ragged. She watches as Rachel shifts to kneel between her legs, her own expression suddenly sure. It settles some of Quinn's nerves, and the soft kiss Rachel presses to her lips definitely helps.

Rachel doesn't rush, but she also doesn't take her time as she tugs on Quinn's shorts, carefully dragging them down pale legs. Once the garment is discarded, she spends a few moments taking in the glorious sight before her. Quinn. She almost has to remind herself that -

"You're mine," her mouth says before she can stop it.

Quinn immediately reaches for her, and Rachel surges forward for another possessive kiss. It's hot and heavy, and Rachel settles her weight on Quinn, taking hold of Quinn's bottom lip between her teeth and tugging on it.

Quinn doesn't feel the hand snaking down the front of her body until it's slipping into her bikini bottoms, fumbling slightly until it locates the aching, throbbing bundle of nerves primed and waiting at the top of her slit.

"Oh, _Jesus_ ," Quinn groans, feeling Rachel's fingers curve around it. "Okay, yeah, okay." The pads of two fingers start to circle, around and around, sending electricity through Quinn's bones, graduating her pants and sighs into aching, longing moans.

Quinn needs something, and she reaches blindly for Rachel, slipping her arms around Rachel's neck and burying her face beneath a curtain of dark hair. She sucks in air, and then sinks her teeth into the hot skin she finds waiting there.

Rachel hisses - in pain or pleasure, Quinn doesn't know - and puts more weight onto the palm of her hand, grinding harder against Quinn's centre.

"Holy fuck," Quinn practically whimpers, bringing her knees up and wrapping her legs around Rachel's thighs. "Oh, god, Rachel, fuck."

Rachel slows the movement of her fingers, and Quinn's eyes snap open, shining with desire and desperation.

"What are you doing?" Quinn practically hisses at her.

Rachel can't help her smile, pressing a soft kiss to parted lips. "These bottoms need to come off," she murmurs, carefully removing her hand from its comfortable heat. She shifts back, and then starts on Quinn's bikini bottoms, teasing them away from shaking hips and down tense thighs.

The moment the garment is completely off, Quinn can only watch as a dark flush of colour spreads across Rachel's skin. Wanting, needing.

"Much better," Rachel whispers. She slides her body along the bed, settling herself between Quinn's legs and breathing out contently. It's honestly the most comfortable place on Earth.

Quinn props herself up on her elbows, her gaze surprisingly intense. "Are you sure about this?" she asks, because she needs Rachel to be certain.

Rachel glances up, taking in Quinn's rapid breathing, her swollen mouth, her flushed skin and loving gaze. She's suddenly never been more sure of anything in her entire life.

Rachel bypasses a response, rather just returning pressure to Quinn's clit and delighting in Quinn's sudden gasp. She spends a few moments just circling, massaging and enjoying Quinn's desperate sounds.

"I love you," Rachel murmurs, looking into Quinn's eyes as one of her fingers seeks out her opening. She keeps her eyes on Quinn's the entire time she slowly pushes said finger inside, watching carefully for her reactions. She needs to be able to tell if she's hurting her.

Quinn groans, biting down on her bottom lip as her body arches.

Rachel allows Quinn to settle, and then she starts to move, slow and purposeful, in and out. Quinn's breath keeps catching, and she sucks in a sharp breath when a second finger works its way inside.

"Oh, god, yes," Quinn moans, and Rachel leans forward, catching her mouth in a brief kiss. Quinn bucks her hips forward, drawing Rachel closer, as her muscles surrounding Rachel's fingers begin to constrict and quiver at the brunette's touch.

"Oh, fuck," Quinn goes again, almost whimpering when the pad of Rachel's thumb slides over her clit. She's pretty sure she's going to die.

She's dying. That's what's happening.

"Please," Quinn murmurs. "Fuck, Rachel, please."

For the most part, Rachel has no idea what she's asking for, so she just kisses her again, rolling her own hips forward and adding pressure to her hand. The noise that comes from Quinn tells her she must have given Quinn what she asked for.

Quinn presses a hand against her closed eyes, the heat radiating from her own skin practically burning her fingers. Her entire body is on fire, and her heart is beating so fast; she's sure she might pass out.

She can feel Rachel's perfect breasts rolling against her own, and it's even better than she imagined. They're both slightly sticky with sweat, their bodies sliding effortlessly against each other and their moans almost in sync.

Quinn looks back up at Rachel's dark eyes, suddenly feeling as if she's drowning in her. She's surrounded by her, and her entire body is weighed down by it.

She's drowning.

This is how she's going to die.

At this point, she'll go willingly. Right now. Anything for relief. Anything.

"Please," her mouth says before she can stop it. She sounds desperate to her own ears, and she can feel her entire body begin to tremble. Shaky arms reach up to wrap around Rachel's neck, dragging her into a kiss.

The rhythm of Rachel's fingers changes as she shifts forward, just managing to match the pace of her fingers inside Quinn with the movement of her tongue against Quinn's. She drags the pads of her fingers upwards, curling against Quinn's clenching muscles and pulling her towards the edge of a cliff that's so high up in the clouds that the fall is going to - to -

"Oh, fuck," Quinn rushes out, her grip tightening and her nails dig into tan flesh. "Rachel - Rachel - fuck, oh fuck." Her eyes are now screwed shut, and she can barely breathe. Her heart is pounding against her ribcage, blood rushing through her body like an unstoppable river.

She feels her body finally begin to seize under the weight of her impending fall, and she's drowning in it. This feeling. This - this - _Rachel_.

Rachel watches - and feels - as Quinn's upper body arches into the air, and she curls her fingers again, her thumb swiping over Quinn's clit, which has the desired effect of sending Quinn right off that proverbial cliff.

Quinn's head is thrown back as her whole body jerks upwards, and she cries out. The sound comes tumbling from parted lips, and Rachel winces at the volume, absently wondering if they'll end up with a noise complaint.

She honestly doesn't care, though, because Quinn is still frozen in ecstasy and she feels a hot, sticky wetness flood her hand, which is just amazing and Rachel can't help feeling smug.

And wicked.

And determined.

Rachel slides her thumb over Quinn's clit again, earning her a surprised gasp.

"No," Quinn says, sounding a little panicked. "Holy shit. I can't - not - "

But, Rachel doesn't listen.

And, Quinn _screams_.

She screams Rachel's name, and it's the most delicious sound Rachel has ever heard as she continues to twist her fingers until Quinn's second orgasm rolls through her body.

They're both seeing stars, she's sure.

Rachel slowly lets Quinn come down from her high, feeling her body quiver every time she shifts, carefully easing Quinn's muscles into stillness. Eventually, she feels the grip on her body lessen, and makes sure to be looking at Quinn's face when hazel eyes finally open, glossy with tears and exhaustion.

"Hi," Rachel whispers, pulling away from Quinn and slowly sliding her dripping fingers from their warm comfort.

Quinn watches with wide, unblinking eyes, suddenly not caring what she looks like, slumped, spread and furiously red all over her body. She just watches in wonder as Rachel shifts, bringing her own fingers to her mouth and - and -

"Sweet Jesus," Quinn breathes the second she sees Rachel slip those fingers into her mouth, and then licks them clean.

They moan at the same time, which kicks Quinn into gear and, before either of them even knows what's happened, Quinn has them flipped over and Rachel is blinking up at her.

"Your turn," Quinn murmurs, ducking her head to kiss Rachel and groaning at the first taste of herself on the brunette's lips.

Rachel is disoriented from the quick change in position and the high of driving Quinn to pleasure. And now Quinn's tongue is in her mouth.

"It's not going to take very long," Rachel manages to say, moaning when Quinn shifts a bare thigh between her legs and gasps at the moisture she finds. "I told you."

Quinn lifts her head, even as her hips begin to move in a steady rhythm . "Where did you even learn how to do... all of that?" she asks, genuinely curious.

"Research," she says. "I just wanted to be ready, and I wanted it to be good for you."

"It was, Rachel," Quinn interjects. "God, you have no idea how amazing it was."

Rachel flushes. "And, before you ask, yes, I did watch some lesbian porn, but I mostly read books and - "

"Hey," Quinn gently interrupts, kissing her quickly. "I don't care, okay? I'm grateful and flattered, and I want to show you just how much." She kisses her again, and Rachel sighs into her mouth, sucking gently on the tongue that's swirling against her own.

Quinn shifts her body, settling with Rachel's legs wrapped around her waist, all the while maintaining her steady kiss, nibbling at a swollen bottom lip. She smiles at the keening sounds coming from Rachel's throat, wanting nothing more to live in this moment forever.

Quinn's hands don't remain idle. Her left hand slips up Rachel's trembling body, resting for a moment at her left breast before it continues up towards her neck, hovering over her pulse. All while her right travels southward, moving to rest against the front of Rachel's panties.

It takes a moment, but Quinn begins to move the heel of her palm against the fabric, grinding down and marvelling at the moisture against her hand. It's that look of wonder that has Rachel reaching out, tangling her fingers in blonde curls and tugging Quinn towards her with such a ferocity that Quinn even squeaks in surprise.

Their kiss is furious, and Quinn's heart rate skyrockets. She's gasping for air, just trying to keep up with the gorgeous, amazing creature that is Rachel Berry.

Coming back to herself, Quinn pulls back for just a moment, tugging Rachel's panties away with her. They're soaked to the touch, and Quinn is so overwhelmed. Everything about this moment is everything she's ever dreamed.

In fact, it's so much more.

Quinn meets Rachel's gaze again, re-asking the question. Her answering nod has Quinn's fingers finding their way up the centre of Rachel's core, causing a gasp to slip from Rachel's lips. Quinn doesn't fare any better, her heart thumping in her chest and her eyes nearly tearing at the mere thought that she gets to do this to Rachel.

 _For_ Rachel.

It's too much and not enough all at the same time, and Quinn doesn't want this moment ever to end.

Quinn can barely breathe as she moves her mouth over to Rachel's ear, softly kissing the thundering pulse point just below it, as she very slowly slides two of her fingers between the brunette's legs, slipping into wet heat.

Rachel automatically arches against the touch, curving her spine forwards in an attempt to fill herself more completely. She lets out an unintelligible whimper when Quinn's fingers curl upwards, and then she practically claws at Quinn's back when the pad of Quinn's thumb rubs a slow, tormenting circle against her throbbing clit.

Well.

It seems Rachel isn't the only one who's done her research.

If Rachel were thinking more coherently, she would actually wonder about exactly where Quinn has learned any of this, but all she can manage is a groan right into Quinn's ear, grinding her hips against Quinn's fingers once more. "Oh, god." She squeezes her eyes tightly shut. "Oh, oh."

Quinn doesn't think she would be one to talk during sex, but her mouth opens to ask, "Is that good?" and they both feel it. There's a breathless gasp from one of them, and Rachel starts... babbling.

She's babbling incoherently, and it just urges Quinn on. She presses her free hand against the small of Rachel's back and tugs her closer, her lips trailing against damp skin.

"Oh, my God," Rachel bites out at the proximity. Her brain is a mess and there's a certain heat rising through her entire body, the pressure building in her every muscle and the shocks sparking in her nerves. "Holy shi - "

"I'm guessing that's a yes," Quinn practically purrs, pressing her thumb so firmly against Rachel that a new wave of wetness spreads over her moving fingers. She feels so powerful, just knowing she's the one to reduce Rachel to this blubbering mess.

"Quinn," Rachel groans, burying her face in the curve of Quinn's shoulder. "Quinn, Jesus, don't - don't - "

Almost spurred on, Quinn begins to roll her hips forwards to match the motion of her fingers, receiving the desired effect of burying them as deep as they can go. Rachel tightens the grip of her legs around Quinn's waist, her nails practically clawing paths down Quinn's back and shoulders that are undoubtedly going to leave a few angry red marks.

Well, not angry.

Passionate, maybe, and Rachel gets the feeling Quinn is far beyond caring at this point. In fact, in return, she scrapes her own nails against the skin at Rachel's lower back and revels in the pleasurable moan the action elicits. She wants to hear more. She wants -

Quinn very suddenly pulls her hand away from Rachel's wanting core, forcing herself not to smile at the disappointed sound Rachel lets out. Quinn just pulls back from the trembling woman, stealing a quick kiss before her gaze drifts down to the space between them. Her sticky hand is glistening, and she's suddenly hot all over.

"I want - " Quinn starts, and then stops. Her eyes dart back up to meet Rachel's gaze. "Can I?" She doesn't really voice the actual question, but she gets the feeling Rachel understands. Her eyes widen for a moment, and then the brunette is nodding, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth.

It's Quinn's turn to groan, and he has to divert her attention to her fingers, which have now returned to their new favourite position between Rachel's legs, grinding the tips of two of them against a clit that was, just moments ago, pulsing and begging for more and more.

Quinn maintains a steady rhythm as she slides down Rachel's body, dropping soft kisses here and there on her way. She can tell Rachel is already teetering on the edge, and she can't have her falling before Quinn has even reached her destination.

It takes a bit of shuffling, and Quinn is forced to remove her hands in order to get herself situated. Rachel is pliable, and Quinn is able to drape tan legs over her shoulders and marvel at -

Quinn can't wait a second longer. Rachel sucks in a sharp breath the second a pink, pointed tongue darts out and finds its way to where fingers were just moments before.

Rachel moans, loud and unabashedly, and her body slumps back against the bed. That tongue does things, dirty, dirty things, and then there are two fingers back inside her, furious and devastating.

It happens shortly after.

It's havoc, all of a sudden, and then she's crying out, tears catching in eyes that she clamps shut. Rachel's caught in this limbo of wanting to pull away and wanting more, and her hands reach out for something, anything. Her left fingers grip the duvet, clenching tightly, and the right reaches for any part of Quinn she can reach.

Her shoulder, her blonde hair.

Rachel's nails dig in, feeling her hips rolling further and further forwards with only one word repeatedly leaving her lips. It's almost a chant at this point, and the upcoming scream is just waiting, hovering.

"Quinn," Rachel pants, her body arching in anticipation and preparation. "Quinn. Quinn. _Quinn_."

When it hits, her entire body shakes as if charges are being driven directly through her muscles. Her thighs tense around the side of Quinn's face, pulling her closer while simultaneously trying to force her away as that tongue doesn't allow her even a moment of reprieve.

She's so high, she doesn't think it's possible to get any higher, and she almost revels in being able to come back down. But then Quinn suddenly twists her fingers and drags them downwards, sending a whole new wave of tremors crashing over the top of her head.

Gasping for air that just won't enter her lungs, Rachel's whole body nearly bucks right off the bed as a loud, desperate, uncaring scream escapes her lips, echoing through the room for minutes after she's eventually allowed to come down.

Quinn finally lets her be, and thighs release her. She crawls up a little to rest her head on the flat plain of Rachel's stomach, exhaustion seeping into her bones despite the lingering smirk.

It takes Rachel a while to catch her breath, and she barely manages that. "I can't - " she starts, reaching down to run a hand over the side of Quinn's face. "I suppose I'm not the only one who did her research, huh?"

Quinn flushes adorably, pressing her face against Quinn's abdominal muscles. "It's one thing to have the theory," she mumbles; "but, God, putting it into action..." she trails off before lifting her head to meet Rachel's tired gaze. "I had no idea it would be so amazing."

"Which part?"

"All of it."

Rachel smiles softly, her fingers threading through Quinn's short hair. "Come here," she whispers, and Quinn tiredly complies, dragging her body upwards. She shifts around until she's almost draped over Rachel's side, hooking one of her legs around one of Rachel's and allowing her head to rest on Rachel's shoulder.

Two hands immediately reach up: one looping over her outstretched arm while the other finds its way around her waist to pull her closer.

Rachel sighs, dreamy and happy and sated. She drops a kiss to the top of Quinn's head, so deeply in love that it's actually terrifying.

"I am so in love with you," Rachel finds herself saying, and Quinn lifts her head to look at her. The smile on her face is so perfect, small and genuine.

"Is that just because I gave you the best orgasms of your life?"

Rachel flushes, and then huffs. "Wow," she murmurs. "Dial down on that ego, Fabray. You don't know - "

"The first of many," Quinn interrupts, her grin spreading across her face. "I can assure you."

Rachel giggles softly.

Quinn leans forward to kiss her softly, that smile never faltering. "I'm so in love with you, too, by the way," she assures.

Rachel allows herself to be kissed again, and then they both settle once more. Rachel knows they'll probably need to shower at some point. She's sticky from the sea and from... other things.

But, for right now, she's content to lie here and bask in this feeling that she never even dreamed she would ever feel.

It's everything.


	9. Chapter 9

**IX**

The Amalfi Coast is as beautiful as Rachel imagined it would be. From the pictures she's seen and what she's read up on it, it's something out of this world. She knows she should be paying more attention to this otherworldly experience, but all she can really focus on is the girl sitting beside her, whose face is practically pressed against the window.

To say Quinn is excited is an understatement.

Between good morning kisses and obvious innuendo, it's really all she's been talking about all day. The two of them were forced to survey each other, adding cover-up to certain places and choosing particular clothing to cover up bruises and marks that weren't noticeable until they came back to the living world after a night Rachel sincerely hopes she will never forget.

"Did you know this place is a UNESCO Wold Heritage Site?" Quinn suddenly asks, catching Rachel's attention.

Rachel smiles at her, blushing despite herself, because of her previous thoughts. "I think I read up on that, yes," she says.

Quinn's smile widens, and then she looks out the window of the coach again. "It's beautiful," she says. "No wonder they want to protect it."

Rachel takes hold of her hand and doesn't let go. The bus continues on, and Quinn is suitably enamoured. They visit churches - there are so many of them - and go on a short boat ride on the bluest, clearest water Rachel has ever seen.

They stop for a late lunch in Positano, and Russell orders a seafood platter for the table, and a handful of vegetable dishes sans dairy without any prompting. Rachel can't hold back her smile when he makes sure to instruct them to hold off on any butter and make sure to use only olive oil, because they have a vegan among them.

"We're in Italy, Dad," Quinn says. "Olive oil is kind of their lifeblood."

Russell just smiles at her.

Judy looks past Quinn's head. "Do you two want to pop into some of the shops while we wait?" she offers. "I don't know if we'll have time before we have to get back on the bus."

Quinn gets to her feet, grabbing her camera. "Do you want anything?" she asks.

"A magnet, maybe," Judy says. "Some postcards for Frannie. Don't spend too much. They're still taking us to the lemons."

Quinn's face lights up, and Rachel giggles to herself as she also rises and then carefully slips her hand into Quinn's, allowing herself to be led.

They find a touristy shop, and Quinn dutifully purchases all the expected memorabilia. Rachel gets a few magnets as well, merely adding to her collection. Their fridge is going to be covered in all things Italy when she gets home.

They take a bit of a walk after, just to get in a few more pictures, and Quinn takes a picture of the both of them kissing, with the water in the background. Rachel hasn't seen it yet, but she already knows it's going up in her bedroom. Kurt will understand.

They get back to the restaurant just in time; their food just arriving. Quinn takes a few pictures amidst her father's teasing, and then they eat. This is their last full day in Italy, and it's as if they all know to savour it that bit more.

In the morning, they'll drive back to Rome to catch their flight back to New York. It feels like an entire world away, and Rachel sobers at the thought it actually is.

Quinn and Russell banter about something, and Rachel pays attention only when they start discussing the plans for the evening.

"Your mother and I are going to dinner tonight," Russell says. "Of course, the two of you are welcome to do the same. On my dime. It is our last night, after all."

Rachel glances at Quinn, who is decidedly not looking at her, but her cheeks are tinted pink.

"That's very generous of you, Russell," Rachel says, smiling in appreciation. "Thank you."

There's a mischievous look in his eyes when he says, "I would recommend the oysters, but you're a vegan, dear."

"Oh, my God," Quinn groans, and Rachel wonders what exactly she's missing. "Dad, seriously, can you just, like, eat your food or something?"

Russell looks entirely too innocent. "I hear oysters are an aphro - "

" _Dad_ ," Quinn interrupts, the red of her cheeks more pronounced. She takes a moment to compose herself, and then very deliberately says, "If you're so interested; you should know that neither of us needs any help at all."

It's Russell's turn to look a little green, and Judy pats his back as she laughs.

"You asked for it, Honey," Judy says, and then just continues to eat as if her husband and daughter weren't just vaguely alluding to arousal and sex.

Rachel is silent as she eats, wondering if the ground could open up and swallow her whole. How would Quinn's parents even know? Is she wearing some kind of sign that reads _hi there, I just had mind-blowing sex with your daughter, unashamedly and repeatedly_?

Do they seem different?

God, are they actually glowing, or something ridiculous like that?

Quinn places a comforting hand on her leg, and she jumps a little, letting out an embarrassed giggle. "Don't mind him," Quinn whispers to her. "He has no idea what he's talking about."

Rachel doesn't quite believe that, but she's trying not to think about it too much. She thinks that, if Quinn's parents suspected they really were sexually active, then they wouldn't be comfortable letting them share a room.

Though, she realises Frannie and Simon probably did. But Quinn is younger, right? Surely that makes a diff -

Rachel tries to push it from her mind, and just manages to succeed when they get to the lemons. The Coast is famous for them, and Judy has to remind Quinn that it's unlikely they'll be able to take any fresh foods back to America with them. Quinn pouts adorably, but still buys a bagful.

Quinn also buys several jars of anchovies, another Coast delicacy, and Russell purchases a few bottles of the famous Amalfi Limoncello.

Lemons.

Ha.

Rachel falls asleep on the way back to Sorrento, and she wakes only when she feels Quinn's weight shift. She's recording a short video of herself, probably for her social media, and Rachel doesn't shift from where she's pressed up against the window this time, just listening in.

"This has been one of the best days of my life," Quinn is saying. "I know, I know I say that about far too many days, but I really mean it this time. I mean it, because it's coming off the best night of my life."

Rachel can hear the smile in her voice, and it's a struggle not to move and press a kiss to any part of Quinn she can reach.

"When I was little," Quinn continues; "I had so many ideas and plans about how my life was going to go, and how I wanted it to turn out. It amazes me that it's so much better than I ever imagined. Right now, right here, I feel as if I'm the luckiest girl in the world."

Quinn adds a bunch of stuff about the lemons she might have to leave behind, the pout evident in her voice, and then she signs off after offering a quick look at her parents, who are both passed out on the seats opposite them.

"Amateurs," Quinn says into the camera, and then ends the video. She fiddles with her phone for another few seconds, and then very deliberately drapes her body over Rachel, getting an indignant squeak out of her.

"I know how you breathe when you sleep," Quinn murmurs, her mouth very close to Rachel's ear. "Can't fool me, Berry."

Rachel stubbornly doesn't respond, continuing to pretend she's asleep.

But, then, she feels Quinn's fingers sneaking under her skirt, her lips settling against Rachel's exposed neck, and Rachel gets the feeling Quinn will likely push this as far as she can possibly go to get a reaction from Rachel.

Quinn's mouth is hot against her skin, and those fingers clearly have a destination. Rachel is definitely ready for them, but there's no way they can do this. Not right here. Quinn's parents are sitting right there. Asleep, yes, but that means nothing.

"I was thinking," Quinn murmurs; "that we skip out on going out for dinner."

Rachel can feel her smile.

"I have everything I want to eat right here," Quinn says, just as she presses the pads of her fingers against Rachel's core.

Rachel gasps, and then digs her nails into Quinn's forearm, unsure if she wants to bring her closer or force her away. Common sense eventually wins out, and she removes Quinn's hand from under her skirt.

"Quinn," she warns, her eyes finally opening.

Quinn keeps her eyes on Rachel's mouth, so tempted to do awful, dirty things to her right here and now.

"We can stay in," Rachel says, trying to be stern, which is difficult to do when Quinn is looking at her with such intensity. "We can order room service, and... not eat it." She shakes her head at the way Quinn's face lights up. "But... only if you behave."

"I am behaving."

Rachel gives her a look.

"I love you," Quinn says, smiling. "God, I can't wait to show you just how much."

* * *

The melancholy about leaving really kicks in while they're waiting to board their plane to New York. Rachel can practically feel it in her bones, spreading through her limbs and making her feel heavy.

She wants to stay.

She wants to remain in the world where she and Quinn get to be together this way.

When they land back on American soil, things will change. They'll revert to what they've been dealing with. Rachel loves Quinn, so she'll happily handle it, but one year is a long time. They're going to be seniors, and that's not going to be easy. There's the future and college and -

"Hey," Quinn suddenly says, tapping her fingers on Rachel's knee. "Look at what Noah sent." She holds out her phone for Rachel to see, and the screen shows a picture of Noah and his sister, Kayla, lounging about in what looks like the Fabray living room. They both have bowls of popcorn propped on their stomachs, and they look far too comfortable. The caption reads: _do you have to come back? we're living the life here_.

Rachel giggles. "Are they house-sitting?"

"No," Quinn says, rolling her eyes. "They're just bumming off our giant TV because it's huge. Like, gigantic."

Rachel has seen it, and Quinn isn't exaggerating. "Well, you get to see them soon."

Quinn's smile is soft, genuine, and Rachel feels something odd twist in her chest. She's going to be leaving Quinn in New York, and all these other people are going to get to spend time with her.

"You will too," Quinn says, putting away her phone. "You'll get to meet Kayla." She looks thoughtful for a moment. "I think I'm going to have to tell her about me."

Rachel covers Quinn's hand with her own. "How do you think she'll take it?"

Quinn presses her lips together. "I think she'll be fine with it," she says. "If anything, she'll probably be angry that Noah knew before her. God, he's going to be such a smug bastard about it, as well."

Rachel just smiles, knowing Quinn is right. The conversation manages to distract her enough that the boarding call is a surprise. Russell had to pull a few strings to make sure Rachel was sitting with them when they checked in, seeing as their first flights were at different times.

Now, Rachel gets to spend the next gazillion hours next to Quinn, with her parents just in front of them. Quinn whispered dirty, dirty hints to her this morning, and Rachel is pretty sure she's about to join the Mile High Club. It's terrifying and exciting, and Rachel just wants.

She wants it all.

Everything.

Quinn helps her with her hand luggage once they've boarded, stowing it away, and then offers her the window seat, even though that's technically hers according to their printed tickets. Rachel presses a kiss to her cheek in thanks, and then slips past her.

Rachel learns, in the next twenty minutes, that Quinn isn't a good flier. At all. She's fidgety and she keeps glancing around. When Judy turns around to check on Quinn for the third time in one minute, Rachel figures out this isn't a new thing.

Rachel reaches for Quinn's closest hand, carefully linking their fingers, and smiling in reassurance when Quinn glances at her.

"I already know the statistics," Quinn says, blinking repeatedly. "I've read up on it several times and, logically, I know how ridiculous I'm being, but - "

Rachel reaches over to kiss her mouth, decidedly not caring who's watching. It's supposed to be a short, reassuring kiss, but it turns into a slow make-out that distracts Quinn through all the safety announcements and eventual takeoff. They're already safely in the air by the time Quinn recalls where they are, and her smile is sheepish.

"God, I should take you with me everywhere," Quinn murmurs, and it's as if the world doesn't even exist.

"That can be arranged," Rachel says, kissing the corner of Quinn's mouth, and then relaxing in her seat. "I mean, I reckon you're stuck with me for, like, forever."

"Not nearly long enough," Quinn whispers.

Rachel sighs dreamily. "I don't even know how I'm going to survive a life with you," she says. "But, it sounds far better than a life without you, so..."

Quinn's eyes darken almost immediately, and Rachel really isn't helping herself or Quinn with the words she's saying. It's still early, and there's no way they'll be able to sneak away for some... alone time.

"After dinner," Rachel promises, leaning in so her lips brush against Quinn's ear. "Most people are going to go to sleep after that."

"I'm banking on it."

Rachel might find it funny, at another time, but she really doesn't at all when Quinn ends up being one of those people. It's cute, sure, and she won't begrudge her girlfriend her sleep, but promises were made and now Quinn is asleep.

Rachel merely sighs, and then busies herself with her journal, absently pencilling in the details of the last few days. A lot of it is to do with Quinn and the change in their physical relationship, and what that means for their emotional relationship. They already love each other in ways Rachel didn't even think was possible, but distance is hard.

She knows it's going to be even worse now.

Rachel is just finishing up on their last morning - waking up to Quinn's hand where she really wants it to be right now - when she feels one of said hands on her knee.

Quinn is awake.

Quinn is definitely awake.

Rachel doesn't react as she continues to write, but she can't help the way her breathing changes when Quinn's mouth latches onto her neck and that hand slides up along her thigh.

"Quinn," Rachel whispers, maybe in a warning.

Quinn hums against her skin. "The cabin's gone dark," she says. "We could get away with just about anything, and - " she stops, nipping at the skin. "I want you."

Rachel breathes out. "Right here?"

"Think you can be quiet?"

"I can try."

Quinn doesn't waste a second, kissing her neck again and sliding her hand under the thin blanket Rachel has draped over her legs. The tray table helps keep things hidden as well, and Rachel shifts forward.

"Help," Quinn instructs.

"How?" Rachel gasps.

"Unbutton your jeans," she says. "Unzip them. Fuck. Spread your legs for me."

Rachel hurries to comply, suddenly too turned on to be embarrassed. Quinn uses her own hand to get in the way just because she can, and she laughs at Rachel's annoyed huff.

Once she's open and ready, Quinn immediately slides her hand into her panties, talented fingers finding her clit like an expert and getting a gasp from her.

"Ssh," Quinn chastises as her fingers draw a steady circle. "Baby, you have to be quiet."

"I - I - "

"Try," Quinn says, her teeth digging in to warm skin and Rachel has to bite her lip to stop herself from moaning out loud. Quinn's fingers slide down her slit, and then back up, the pads of her fingers back on that sensitive bundle of nerves. It's too much and not enough, and Rachel reaches blindly for Quinn's other hand that's gripping her shirt. She tangles their fingers, her heart beating way too fast as Quinn's fingers continue pressing down.

"Wider," Quinn says. "Slide down. I want inside."

Rachel is already so close, but she does as she's told, practically hanging off her seat. Quinn bends her wrist almost inhumanely, and her fingers somehow twist inside. It takes just a few more thrusts, and then Rachel is coming, her gasp muffled by Quinn's lips that suddenly find hers.

Quinn is merciful enough to let her come down slowly, and then she carefully removes her hand and allows Rachel to sit up and fix her clothing. She brings her fingers up, contemplates what to do with them, and then sticks them in her mouth.

Rachel can barely breathe at the sight. "Your turn," she says.

"Not yet," Quinn says, glancing over her shoulder.

Rachel just nods her head, and then rests it against Quinn's shoulder. She needs the time to recover anyway, and she does, just in time to follow one minute after Quinn disappears to the bathroom a mere half hour later. Majority of people are asleep, and Rachel makes sure not to make eye contact with any who are awake.

She knocks once on the door, and it immediately opens, a pale hand reaching out and tugging her inside. The door is barely locked before Quinn is kissing her, hard and fast.

Rachel is already reaching for the button of Quinn's own jeans. She drags them down her legs with her panties, and then shoves Quinn against the counter. She glances down at the floor and decides against kneeling on it. Gross.

"How?" Rachel finally asks.

Quinn is already breathless when she slips her fingers into the belt loops of Rachel's jeans. "Drop these," she says.

Rachel blinks, about to argue that it's supposed to be her turn, but this is what Quinn wants, and she's always going to give her what she wants.

"Actually, take them off," Quinn adds a moment later. "And the panties."

Rachel almost doesn't want to, but she does it anyway and very carefully sets them on the counter. Quinn reaches for her hips a moment later and tugs her closer.

Everything is suddenly so slow, even their kiss. They probably should be rushing because this could get suspicious very quickly, so Rachel kisses her harder, giving Quinn a silent prompt to speed things up, and it works.

Quinn surges forward, backing Rachel against the door. Her hands reach down to tan thighs and lift, and Rachel suddenly figures out why she needed to be completely bare for this. She lifts her legs and wraps them around Quinn's body, which presses their centres deliciously together.

Rachel gasps.

Oh.

She can practically feel Quinn throbbing against her, hot and wet and needy.

Quinn kisses her harshly as she rolls her hips against Rachel, drawing moans and groans and all those other glorious sounds that Quinn wishes she could bottle up and keep for all of eternity. She has the fleeting thought she'd like to have an audio recording of herself going down on Rachel, just for posterity... and other things.

They've never done this before, and Rachel wonders if it'll be enough for all of six seconds before Quinn thrusts just right, and she just knows Quinn probably wouldn't even have to touch her to get her off.

But, they're touching now, intimately, and Rachel is losing her mind. Her arms are clutching at Quinn's neck, holding her close and scratching at her shoulders.

"God, yes," Rachel pants, and she's paying zero attention to anything other than Quinn. She can see their reflection in the mirror opposite them, and she didn't know she was into voyeurism until this moment. She can see the hard movement of Quinn's impressive muscles in her thighs and ass as she thrusts, and -

And -

"Are you - " Rachel starts to ask, but stops when she feels Quinn nod.

"Almost."

Rachel still comes before Quinn, because, hello, muscles, and her body jerks through her orgasm just in time for Quinn to hit hers. She doesn't even make a sound, rather sucks in sharp breaths as she keeps Rachel pressed as close to her as possible, their cores throbbing against each other. Her arms are wrapped around her waist, and the two of them basically remain in that position for long minutes.

"I love you," Quinn whispers, breaking the silence.

Breaking the spell.

They're going to land in a few hours, and the dream of a life they've been living in Europe is going to come to an end, and this is the first time Rachel realises Quinn feels it too: the inevitability of returning to their real lives.

"We still have time," Rachel assures her, running a soothing hand over her hair.

Quinn lifts her head. "Yeah?"

Rachel nods. "Yeah."

Quinn smiles, mostly in relief... and then mischief, because she starts to move again and, yeah, Rachel is definitely into voyeurism.

* * *

Rachel sleeps for thirteen hours straight when she finally crawls into Quinn's bed once they're home. It's mainly jet lag, but she also didn't get much sleep on the plane. Between sneaking off with Quinn and watching too many movies, she caught only a few half-hours here and there, and now she's just making up for it.

It's still annoying that she doesn't feel any less exhausted when she finally opens her eyes, but she knows she won't be getting back to sleep. She's alone in Quinn's bed and she has no idea what time it is, but she knows a shower is needed.

Half an hour later, feeling a little more human, Rachel ventures out of Quinn's bedroom and follows the sound of voices to find Quinn, Noah and Kayla watching _Chopped_ in the living room. She almost stumbles into the room, which draws their collective attention, and she flushes in embarrassment.

Quinn gets to her feet immediately, and she's dressed in running shorts and a t-shirt that has her school's mascot on it. She crosses the room to wrap Rachel in a hug.

"She lives," Noah dramatically says from somewhere behind her.

Rachel flushes that bit more, and then studies Quinn. "Did you go for a run?"

Quinn shakes her head. "Cheerleading practice."

"What?" Rachel squeaks.

Quinn just shrugs as if it's nothing. "You hungry?"

Rachel nods.

"Come meet Kayla, and I'll get you something to eat."

Rachel suddenly feels nervous, and she glances down at herself, wondering if what she's wearing is okay. It's just leggings and an oversized t-shirt that probably belongs to Quinn.

Quinn notices, and her smile is a little ridiculous. "You look gorgeous," she murmurs, and presses a kiss to her forehead. She frowns when Rachel tenses, and then smiles again. "Oh, I told her," she says. "She was irritated Noah knew before her, but she doesn't care. Like, she told me she even kissed this girl, Barb, last weekend; she's that kind of fine."

Rachel breathes out, relieved. "Okay."

Quinn rolls her eyes, and she turns around while reaching blindly for Rachel's hand. She's so calm when she says, "Kayla, this is Rachel, my girlfriend. Rachel, meet Kayla, the bane of my existence."

Kayla chucks a cushion at Quinn at the same time Noah says, "Hey, I thought that was me."

Quinn just shakes her head at them both, subtly shoving Rachel onto the couch beside Kayla, and then disappears into the kitchen.

It's awkward for all of four seconds before Noah says, "Quinn says she would have made a pesto to pair with the lamb, but Kayla reckons that's playing it safe. What would you do with those ingredients?"

Rachel blinks, and then looks at the screen. _Chopped_. Oh. Okay.

Quinn finds them in the middle of a deep debate about the the best way to deal with okra when she returns.

"But, it's so slimy," Noah says, pulling a disgusted face. "You have to deep fry them, come on. There's no other way."

"They're fine if you cook them properly," Kayla says.

For the most part, Rachel and Noah aren't the food experts, but they're involved enough to hold their own, and Quinn just smiles as she sets a salad bowl in front of her. Rachel feels a kiss pressed to the top of her head, which makes her smile like a fool, and then Quinn drops onto the couch beside her, a hand pressing against the small of her back, sneaking under her shirt.

Well.

Okay.

Rachel focuses on her food, which is some kind of quinoa bowl with chickpeas and butternut and charred vegetables. She glances at Quinn. "I don't even know what the time is," she says.

"Does it matter?" Quinn responds with a shrug, and then tugs on Rachel's shirt to bring her back to lie in the crook of her arm. Rachel smiles to herself as she settles with Quinn's arm around her, and she relaxes further.

Kayla says nothing about it, and Noah offers them a genuine smile, before all four of them return their attention to the television.

Rachel knows she has only another few days with Quinn before she has to head back to Ohio, and she could happily spend them like this.

* * *

Quinn does, unfortunately, have cheerleading practice every morning from eight until one o'clock, so Rachel usually meets her for lunch somewhere in the city before they decide on their activity of the afternoon.

It's a little routine that Rachel loves, and she finds herself imagining what their lives are going to be like in a year's time, when she's also here. If it's half as good as this, she'll take it and then some.

They don't really have much time, though. Just the weekend, and then Rachel is leaving on Monday morning. She needs to spend some time with her parents, and she needs to prepare for school.

She acknowledges the adventure has to come to an end at some point, and Rachel wishes, not for the first time, that she could freeze time.

Or, something maybe less dramatic.

She's working on it.

* * *

For some reason, Rachel thought that, once they started having sex, they would have it all the time, especially after their Italian escapades, but she quickly learns that isn't the case at all, and Rachel can't decide if it bothers her or not.

Obviously, they're together for more than that, but she also really wants Quinn to be unable to keep her hands off of her, all the time, and, right now, Quinn's hands are busy making some kind of pasta dough. She knows it's somewhat irrational, but she has the thought that Quinn might actually prefer cooking to sex.

Prefer cooking to _her_.

Maybe the sex isn't as good for Quinn as it is for Rachel, but she gets the feeling that isn't the case. Does Quinn love cooking more than her? Does an affirmative answer to that question affect Rachel in some way?

"Quinn?" Rachel finds herself saying before she can stop herself, from her position on a stool at the breakfast nook.

Quinn looks up, her eyes bright. There's a dusting of flour on her left cheek, and Rachel feels herself fall in love all over again.

"Can I ask you something and have you not freak out?"

Quinn's eyes widen, and her movements still. "I'll try," she eventually says. "What's up?"

"Well," Rachel starts, licking her lips. "We're currently alone in your house on a perfectly lovely Friday afternoon."

Quinn blinks. "We are..."

"And, I was just wondering, you know, if you would rather be doing something else with all this free time we have, together?"

It takes Quinn a moment, but then she clicks, and then blushes. "Oh."

Rachel fidgets with the hem of her t-shirt. "Unless... I mean - do you not want to? Because, that's fine. It's just that - I just - we haven't - " she stops, huffing out a breath. She doesn't really want to point out that they haven't been physically intimate since they arrived back in New York three days ago. Quinn is sometimes too tired, and Rachel isn't sure she's entirely comfortable initiating that sort of activity in Quinn's parents' house.

Quinn abandons her work completely and moves from behind the kitchen island to stand in front of Rachel. "Hey," she murmurs, tucking a lock of hair behind Rachel's ear. "I love you."

And, then, Rachel asks the question. "But, do you love me more than you love cooking?"

Quinn seems to start at the question, immediately dropping her hand. "What?"

"I - I don't know, but I get the feeling I'm going to be competing with cooking for - "

"Am I not giving you enough attention?" Quinn almost shrieks, and she sounds borderline distraught.

"What? No, that's not it."

"I don't understand."

Rachel sighs. "I know this doesn't make any sense, but is cooking always going to come first?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you had to, would you choose me over cooking?"

Quinn practically blanches at the question. "Rachel," she says, frowning. "That's not a fair question. I wouldn't even choose my own sister over cooking." She attempts a smile, but Rachel is completely still. "It's not that simple, okay? I've loved cooking my entire life, and being in a relationship is different. It's like my asking if you would choose me over singing."

"I would."

Quinn freezes. "You don't mean that," she whispers.

"I do."

Quinn shakes her head. "Stop that," she says. "Just, stop."

Rachel looks at her, eyes wide.

"I love you," Quinn says. "I love you enough that this would never be a choice you would have to make. Do you hear me? You never have to make that choice when it comes to me, because I will never let you."

"Quinn," Rachel breathes, and then Quinn is kissing her. Hard and fast. The kiss is furious, bruising, and Rachel would probably fall off her stool if Quinn wasn't holding onto her hips so tightly.

If Rachel is being honest, she's not really sure what she expected from bringing up this worry of hers, but she definitely doesn't expect Quinn to spread her knees, lift her skirt and then tug roughly at her panties.

"Fuck," Quinn pants against Rachel's lips. "I have flour on my hands." She growls softly, and then laughs. "Wouldn't want to give you a yeast infection."

Rachel has just enough time to think of a reprimand for Quinn's awful joke before the blonde is dropping to her knees and immediately nipping at her inner thigh. She gasps loudly, her heart rate rising to dangerous levels.

The moment Quinn's tongue grazes against her centre, her body threatens to collapse backwards, and she's suddenly glad the breakfast nook is behind her. Quinn's hands grasp hold of each of her thighs and spreads them, moving them upwards over strong shoulders, giving Quinn a clearer view of the now familiar prize before her.

Quinn languidly draws her tongue up Rachel's slit a second time, letting the very tip linger slightly as it reaches the top and feeling Rachel's socked toes curl against her hips. A low moan erupts from somewhere above her, and she smirks into the warmth of Rachel's skin.

Her own heart is thumping against her ribcage, and she never wants Rachel to think she doesn't want her constantly, every second of every day, all the time, now and forever.

As she begins to circle her tongue around Rachel's clit, Quinn can't help but wonder about how much she doesn't care about how unhygienic this possibly is. They're in her kitchen, for God's sake. Imagine what her subscribers would think if they knew this was happening on the set of most of her videos.

But, she doesn't care.

Because, Rachel is against her mouth, moaning incoherently, and all Quinn wants to do is make her feel good.

Rachel's hand finds its way into her hair, a mess of fingers and nails curling into a fist that tugs her closer, and she just knows she's doing something right. Her heart skips at the thought, and she redoubles her efforts, pressing her tongue more firmly against the point of Rachel's body.

It forces Rachel's hips to grind forward, her eyes rolling backward, and her breath escapes from her lips in one, long, drawn-out sigh of ecstasy.

"Please, please," Rachel begs.

Quinn drags her tongue southward, and pushes it inside, and Rachel's thighs clamp around her head. She's pretty sure she might suffocate, but she doesn't stop, working Rachel up and up with the motion of her tongue.

Rachel is close, Quinn can tell, but she needs a little more. With her right hand, Quinn reaches for Rachel's left, and then moves it to between her own legs, using her own fingers to press against Rachel's bundle of nerves.

"Holy shit," Rachel groans, the moisture against her skin almost too much to handle. "Oh, God, yes, yes, don't - I'm so - oh - "

Quinn thrusts faster, their fingers pressing harder, and, within moments, Rachel is gasping and screaming and convulsing, and Quinn is sucking and lapping it all up, dragging it out and almost sending her over the edge all over again.

Rachel shudders as Quinn slowly draws her movements to a stop, pressing one last soft kiss to her swollen clit before carefully disengaging and pulling back to look up at Rachel.

"Hey," Quinn murmurs, her eyes bright and her mouth... shining.

Rachel immediately grabs at her shoulders and drags her to her feet, tugging her into a desperate, wet kiss. She can taste herself on Quinn's tongue and, okay, how much time do they have until Quinn's parents get home?

"Bedroom," Rachel says against Quinn's smiling lips. "Now."

Quinn has just enough good sense to turn off all the burners before Rachel is dragging her away, only one thought in mind.

* * *

"Do you want to be in tomorrow's video?"

Quinn is curled around Rachel when she asks the question, her voice rough with sleep. She's barely awake, but her grip on Rachel's body is firm. They're both on the cusp of sleep, really, but the question catches Rachel off guard and she tenses without really meaning to.

"You don't have to say yes," Quinn offers moments later, probably sensing her discomfort. "It's just that, well, Noah and Kayla are going to be here to try the food I prepare, and I'd really like to introduce you to my fans as my... best friend, I guess."

Rachel breathes out slowly. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Quinn says, and she genuinely sounds it. Her grip even tightens around Rachel's body in an attempt to convey the truth of her words. "I'm sure," she repeats. "I know we can't be... what we are, but you're important to me, and I want to be able to talk about you and have them just know whom I'm talking about."

It takes a moment, but Rachel eventually says, "Okay."

Quinn smiles against the back of Rachel's neck, and she knows she's made the correct decision.

* * *

The nerves do kick in, though.

She wakes relaxed - _how can she wake up any other way when she has Quinn Fabray wrapped around her_? - but that feeling lasts only an hour.

Rachel hasn't really given too much thought to how Quinn makes her videos. Noah is usually involved, so he's already sitting in the kitchen with Quinn when Rachel emerges from the shower. They're discussing something about her growing social media presence, and Noah ends up saying, "You should probably talk to your parents about getting a publicist."

"But I already have a manager," Quinn says, smiling when she notices Rachel in the doorway. She waves her in, and then moves to retrieve a bowl of breakfast from the warmer for her.

"Good morning, Noah," Rachel says, giving him a quick hug before slipping onto the stool beside him and thanking Quinn for the breakfast.

"Hey, Broadway," Noah says, smiling at her. "I hear you're joining us today."

Rachel nods. "I hope that's okay."

"Of course," he says, looking at her as if she's crazy for thinking otherwise. "We basically just hang out and eat whatever Quinn prepares."

Quinn places a diluted glass of orange juice in front of her. "Not everything I'm making today is vegan, I'm afraid," she says; "but I think you'll like the sweet potato and carrot gnocchi when it's done."

Rachel laughs. "You'd think, after all the pasta we ate in Italy, you'd be sick of it."

"Blasphemy," Noah says, as Quinn holds a hand over her heart, pretending to be wounded.

"You don't want my pasta?" she asks, ever so dramatic.

"Those are not the words I said," Rachel says.

"That's what I heard," Noah says, and Rachel punches his arm.

"God," Quinn says, laughing gloriously and drawing both their attentions. "This is going to be a disaster, isn't it?"

* * *

It goes better than Rachel expects, really.

She sits with Noah behind the camera as Quinn cooks, her entire body relaxed and happy. Her smile is genuine and she charms the camera to the point that Rachel is almost irrationally jealous. What ridiculousness is that.

The meal preparation takes almost seventy minutes, and that's the entirety of the footage. There's a good chunk that ends up getting cut out, obviously. Food takes _time_ to cook, and nobody wants to wait around unnecessarily.

In that time, Kayla arrives, and, once the food is ready and plated, Noah busies himself with the first recordings. The dishes remain in the warmer while he and Quinn edit the video, which goes far quicker than Rachel imagines, while she and Kayla keep each other company talking about her time in Italy.

It all feels so easy, and Rachel marvels at how comfortable she feels in and around these people who are inherently _Quinn's_.

The video is ready to go at eleven-thirty, but they're going to wait until 11h59 to post all thirty-four minutes of it, because they're just strange like that, apparently.

"We can start eating so long," Quinn says, starting to retrieve the dishes of food and setting them on the kitchen island in the exact same place they were at the end of the previous video.

"This is the best part," Noah says, clapping his hands together in excitement before he rises to his feet to prepare the camera and then immediately hits record without even giving them a lead-in. "It smells so good, Q," he then says, which is the Noah Puckerman version of _Action_!

Kayla nods, stealing one of the crisp potato wedges. "Rosemary?"

Quinn shoots her a look. "If you'd been here on time, you would know," she says.

Kayla just laughs. "You didn't need me," she says. "You had your other two favourite people here already."

Noah slides towards the food. "It's kind of sad we all know you're not talking about your parents," he says, somewhat saucily before he playfully snaps his teeth at her. "Feed me."

Quinn just rolls her eyes as she gathers four plates and spreads them out. "Feed yourself," she says, but she still dishes out for four people.

Kayla glances at Rachel, who is still standing out of frame. "Come on," she says, waving a hand. "Someone has to eat all this soulless vegan food."

That gets a reaction out of Rachel, and she temporarily forgets her nerves as she moves to stand beside Noah, careful to keep a human body between her and Quinn. "I resent that," she says. "If anything, _I'm_ the one with the soul."

"But, the vegetables," Quinn teases. " _Think about the vegetables_."

Rachel just shakes her head, and then holds out her hands for her plate. Quinn serves her first, of course, and then Kayla, Noah and finally herself.

Noah gets them forks, and then casually says, "I don't know CPR, Rachel."

Rachel laughs out loud. "Vegan food isn't going to kill me, Noah."

"Could have fooled me," Kayla says, grinning at her.

Rachel looks at Quinn, huffing out a breath. "Help me out here, Fabray."

Quinn raises her hands in innocence. "Oh, no, I'm not getting involved in this," she says, and then very purposefully looks at the camera. "I love all my fans equally, and I will not alienate my vegan followers."

"Sellout," Noah coughs.

"You totally agree with us, though," Kayla says, eating another potato wedge. "It's okay, Quinn. We'll all still be your friends."

Quinn just shrugs, and eats her own potato wedge.

Rachel feels nervous all of a sudden, and she diverts her attention to the food on the plate in front of her. Her heart is beating too fast, but the food is so good, so it's the first thing she says, unprompted, and the smile she gets from Quinn is worth it.

"So fluffy," Rachel adds. "Just try it."

"I did," Quinn says. "It's these two you have to convince."

Rachel pierces a piece of gnocchi and holds out her fork for Noah. "Come on," she prompts. "You ate those vegan treats that one time and you enjoyed them."

"I was duped," he complains, but does take the fork from her and taste the food on offer. He keeps his face neutral when he hands the fork back to her, and then makes a non-committal sound.

"That means he likes it," Kayla says, looking horrified. "Is Rachel dragging you to the dark side?"

Quinn leans forward. "If anything, he's walking, willingly," she says. "And, honestly, Noah likes everything I cook."

Noah looks momentarily guilty, and Kayla looks positively delighted.

Quinn raises a hand. "You know what, I don't even want to know," she says. "Just eat your food I so lovingly prepared for you."

The banter that follows is easy, comforting, and Rachel relaxes into it. Before she knows it, Noah ducks out to post the video and Quinn is gesturing for her to move closer.

"Guys," Quinn says, her smile steady. "This is Rachel. She's from Ohio, and she claims to be my biggest fan."

Rachel flushes madly. "I said no such thing," she argues.

"Oh? My mistake then."

Rachel shakes her head. "You're terrible."

"Yeah, yeah," Quinn murmurs, and then smiles again. "She's one of my best friends," she says; "so I just thought I'd introduce you to her. She's a vegan, so I hope you won't hold it against her."

"You're really not helping," Rachel comments, and Kayla laughs.

Quinn continues. "She also sings, so check out her _YouTube_ channel like the low-key stalkers you sometimes are." She winks. "Links can be found in the description."

When Noah gets back, Quinn very carefully transitions into the end of the video, and the last thing the viewers will see when the video is uploaded the next day is Noah chucking a balled up napkin at Kayla and Quinn laughing with the sort of ease none of them has ever truly witnessed before.

If anyone notices Rachel's heart-eyes, only a few comment about it.

* * *

"Are we going out tonight?" Noah asks, much later, as he lies draped across Quinn's bed.

Quinn is lying next to him, curled into a ball with her eyes closed. "Will I get to nap first?"

"Yes," he says.

"Then, I'm game," she says, and then lifts her head to look at Rachel, who is sitting with Kayla at her desk, doing goodness knows what on Quinn's laptop. "What about you two?"

"Totally," Kayla says.

Rachel glances over at Quinn, her eyebrows rising. She's asking a silent question, and Quinn answers with a reassuring smile. "Sure," Rachel finally says.

Noah claps his hands. "Awesome," he says. "I'll have three wing-ladies to help me get laid."

"Gross," Kayla says, visibly grimacing.

Quinn just laughs, softly patting his cheek. "Should we invite anyone else?"

Noah gives it some thought. "Cath should be around," he says. "And Jasper. I'm sure Gokul would be game for a night out. The crazy bastard."

"Ask them," Quinn says, leaning over him to grab his phone from her nightstand. If she notices that he stops breathing for a moment, neither of them mentions it.

Everything is largely okay between them, but Noah has his moments, sometimes. These past few weeks without her have helped. Witnessing how happy she is with Rachel helps, as well.

Quinn eventually gets up while Noah is texting a few of their other friends, and she wanders over to her desk. "What are you two up to over here?" she asks.

"We were taking selfies," Kayla answers; "but now we're just going through your emails."

Quinn barely reacts. "Oh. Anything interesting?"

Kayla laughs. "You got some spam. Have you been viewing lesbian porn, Fabray?"

Quinn chokes on the breath she's just taken and then breaks into a fit of coughs. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

Rachel pats her forearm. "It's okay, baby," she says. "It's completely normal."

Quinn is about to defend herself when Noah pipes up from behind her. "It totally is," he says. "Some of the things those women do... just, wow."

Quinn covers her face in mortification. "Please can we talk about something else. Literally _anything_ else, I beg of you."

Noah gets to his feet as well and comes to stand near them. "We got a few yeses to our night out," he says. "Where are we thinking of going?"

"Pulse," Kayla says, barely looking away from the laptop screen.

Noah's head whips towards her. "How do you even know about that place?"

"I live in New York," Kayla answers, shooting him a look of disbelief. "I also don't live under a rock."

"You're fifteen."

"So?" she fires back. "Doesn't mean I don't know things." She shakes her head. "Also, I'm sixteen in a month, so shut the fuck up."

Rachel thinks Kayla reminds her far too much of Santana Lopez in this moment, and that thought is a little terrifying.

Quinn rolls her eyes at their antics. "There's no way we can get into Pulse," she says. "Especially not with such a big group. We'll definitely look like teenagers. Particularly if we take these two children with us."

It takes far too long for Rachel and Kayla to realise she's referring to them.

"Hey."

"Watch it."

Quinn just chuckles, her eyes still on Noah. "What about Lee's?"

Noah hums in thought. "Why don't we just go over to JC's?" he suggests. "He's got a decent place, and we probably won't have to worry about getting caught drinking."

Quinn runs her tongue over her teeth. "See if he says yes," she says. "Maybe we can turn it into an end of summer party and get a bunch more people. Make it bring your own booze and snacks, too, seeing as it's so last minute."

"I think Moran can get us a keg," Noah says, already firing away on his phone.

"Awesome," Quinn says, and then turns towards Kayla. "Make yourself useful on that thing and design an e-vite," she instructs, referring to her laptop. "Summer colours, preferably. Hold on for more details from your brother. I have the mailing lists on my email, which you already happen to have open, so that's one less thing to worry about."

Kayla just nods, setting to her task like Quinn has just given her a direct order.

When Quinn turns towards Rachel, the brunette is giving her a strange look. "What?" she asks, slightly self-conscious.

Rachel shakes her head, as if she's clearing it. She's definitely not going to admit that she's suddenly incredibly turned on after watching Quinn hand out instructions like the Head Cheerleader and Student Class President she is. Power lesbian really suits her.

It's a little overwhelming, and Rachel can't help but wonder if this is what she's always like. If so, why aren't there more people literally falling at her feet? Or, are they?

Rachel squirms in her seat, and then clears her throat. "What's my job?"

Quinn looks momentarily thrown, but recovers quickly. "Can you go and check for what we have in the pantry and make a list of what we're going to need if this ends up happening?"

"It's happening," Noah suddenly says. "Not at JC's, but at Ed's."

"Really?" Quinn asks, suddenly excited.

Noah nods, almost jumping in place. "The dude's already got a bunch of shit there, and he says we can raid some of his booze. He's pretty sure he can also organise some catering."

"Holy shit," Quinn says, grinning madly. "I love New York."

Rachel can practically feel their excitement, and she's pretty sure she loves New York, as well.

Quinn looks at Kayla. "Get everything you need from Noah, and then send that thing out as soon as you can."

Kayla nods. "This is going to be the party of the summer."

Quinn reaches for her own phone. "What's the sound like at Ed's place?"

"Pretty dope," Noah says, not even looking up from his phone. "We just need some music."

"Isn't Dale's boyfriend a DJ?"

Rachel feels a little lost trying to follow all the people mentioned in the discussion. These are all people she doesn't know, and she's hit by that odd feeling again. These are Quinn's people, all who Rachel doesn't know, and Quinn has so many of them.

Why - why does she even need Rachel, then?

The thought renders her completely still, and it takes a moment to reboot. She knows she's being ridiculous. What she needs is some fresh air. She just needs to breathe, really, and, when she slips out of the room a minute later, nobody seems to notice.

* * *

Rachel almost expects Quinn to be the one to find her, but it's actually Kayla. It's not exactly a surprise, because she's noticed something particularly knowing in the girl's eyes, but she can't figure out what Kayla just seems to know.

"What are you doing out here?" Kayla asks, moving to stand beside where Rachel is leaning against the railing on the balcony that leads off the main living room.

"Just needed some fresh air," Rachel says, offering her a small smile.

Kayla gets that knowing look again. "Yeah, Quinn'll do that to you."

Rachel audibly swallows, unsure how she's supposed to respond to that.

"Did you know she was my friend first?" Kayla asks, and Rachel suddenly just _gets_ it, which draws a quiet curse from under her breath.

"Not you too?"

"Maybe not to Noah's extent, and definitely not to yours," she confesses; "but Quinn kind of makes it very difficult not to, doesn't she? I don't think there's a soul on earth who could meet and know her and not end up even a little bit in love with her." She sighs. "It's worse because she doesn't even realise it, sometimes. Her experience as Lucy makes it difficult for her to recognise it, and it's the darnedest thing."

Rachel shrugs. "Her cross to bear," she says, almost painfully. "And ours, I suppose."

"I sent out the e-vite mere minutes ago, from her email account, and the confirmations came flooding in just seconds later, people dropping all their other plans for a Fabray-Puckerman End-of-Summer Extravaganza," Kayla says.

"Please tell me that's not _really_ what you called it."

"It is."

"You're all such dorks."

" _Hey_."

Rachel smiles, relaxing slightly and letting her gaze wander over the impressive view of Manhattan. "How did she handle it?"

Kayla scoffs. "The dumb idiot is actually genuinely surprised."

"The darnedest thing."

Kayla turns her head to look at her. "Sometimes, she thinks it's because she's a little famous, but it's really about her."

"She's an idiot sometimes."

Kayla allows them to lapse into silence, and then she very purposefully says, "You have to know it's different for you, right?"

And, the thing is that Rachel _does_ know. Of course she knows. Quinn has spent their entire relationship proving it to her.

"I've known her since she was ten, and I can say with complete certainty that she hasn't ever looked at another human being the same way she looks at you."

Rachel audibly swallows. "And, how does she look at me?"

"As if you're the sun and the stars and the moon all wrapped into one," Kayla says, and the way she says it makes it sound like an inscrutable fact. "She might love us in her own way, but the only person she loves in the way that truly matters is _you_. Nothing else is as important as that."

Rachel almost wants to disagree, because that's not really what's playing on her mind at the moment. It's something else that she can't quite put her finger on.

Still, she ends up saying, "But, you're all going to be here, and, I'm not."

"So, trust us to look after her for you," Kayla says, smiling softly. "It's just a year. And, I mean, it isn't as if you're not going to see each other. There's Thanksgiving and Winter Break and Spring Break. Quinn is also filthy rich, so I'm sure she could spring a weekend or two here and there just to see you when she's missing you a little too much to function."

Rachel looks at her, surprised. "You seem to have given this a lot of thought?"

Kayla smiles a little sadly. "Not me, Rachel," she says, looking away. "Not me at all."

* * *

In truth, Rachel isn't sure what to expect of a high school party in New York City. She doesn't have much to compare it to, given her limited social life in Lima, but even she knows there's a certain extravagance to be found in the Big Apple that Ohio can never even begin to match.

Everything is so bright and sparkly, and there's the largest cheer that resounds through the masses of people when Quinn finally shows her face, flanked by Rachel and Kayla. Noah is already somewhere, making sure everyone has a drink and there's enough food to go around. The DJ is killing it so far, and Rachel can practically _feel_ the music vibrating in the floor through her heels.

The three girls are dressed to kill, glammed up in skin-tight dresses and casual jackets that will probably get discarded in one of the many bedrooms at some point. Rachel's dress is glittery gold, Quinn's is hot pink and Kayla's is aquamarine.

Almost the primary colours.

People practically descend on them, like moths to a flame, and Kayla grabs Rachel's arm to drag her away from the crowd, leaving Quinn to face the wolves alone. Rachel would feel sorry for her if she weren't so relieved.

"Let's get some drinks," Kayla yells over the music as she weaves their way through the moving bodies towards where they've set up the drinks. There isn't a specific bartender, but Noah does appear out of thin air when they approach.

"I will cut you if you tell me I can't drink," Kayla says before he can even open his mouth to speak.

Noah scowls at her. "I don't care what you do," he says. "I was coming over to ask Rachel if I could get _her_ a drink."

Rachel smiles at him, trying not to look too fascinated by the sibling dynamic. She hasn't been able to witness much of that kind of relationship in the past, so it's all a little new to her. "What do you have?"

"What kind of stuff do you like?"

"Blue," she automatically says, recalling her night of cocktails in Rome with Quinn, and then blushes because of it. "Uh, I think I like sweet drinks. Fruity stuff."

"What about a vodka cranberry, huh?" he suggests, and then proceeds to prepare the drink in a plastic cup before she can even respond. She knows that's one of Quinn's favourite drinks, so she asks him to make two. He looks confused for a moment, but then he gets it and his features soften. "Sure thing, Broadway."

Kayla pipes up. "Can I get a Rum and Coke?"

"No."

"But - "

"You asked a question, I gave an answer," Noah says, not even looking at her as he finishes up with the drinks. He turns and hands them to Rachel, who thanks him, before he looks at his sister. "If you want a drink, get it yourself. I'm not going to be responsible for your underage drinking. Mom will kill me, and the fact you're here is already enough for her to put me in a coma." And then he's walking away, leaving the girls to themselves.

Which lasts all of seven seconds before there's a pair of boys suddenly standing in front of them. Kayla huffs out an annoyed breath, blatantly ignoring them as she fixes her own drink while Rachel waits.

One of the boys - he's quite tall - steps into Rachel's space. "I haven't seen you around here before," he starts, his voice already slightly slurred. "I like to think I would know if someone as gorgeous you existed in my city."

It takes everything Rachel has not to laugh in his face, because she's too polite for that. Kayla has no such qualms, though, and she practically doubles over from the force of her laughter.

"God," she wheezes; "does that actually work for you?"

He looks stumped for a moment, as if he's unsure why that line _wouldn't_ work. But, then, his face changes into something else, and Rachel realises it's because Quinn is suddenly joining them, looking slightly agitated.

Rachel immediately hands her the drink in her left hand. "Here," she says; "Noah made this for you."

Quinn glares at both girls. "I hate you both," she grumbles, practically downing her entire drink by tilting her head back and exposing her glorious, pale neck to three sets of interested eyes. Four, probably, because the second boy is also staring.

Rachel thinks it's about the sexiest thing she's ever seen.

Quinn sighs, and then notices the tall boy just standing there, looking starstruck. "Oh, hey, Tommy," she says. "Getting a drink?"

Tommy, once again, looks lost for words, as if he can't believe Quinn would even know his name.

Quinn just smiles, which is more of a grimace, and then makes herself a fresh drink, mixing two liquids Rachel doesn't recognise. Eventually, she turns to Rachel and Kayla. "I hear they're having a beer pong tournament?"

Kayla shakes her head. "Noah's going to be all over that, and I'd really rather be anywhere but around my idiot of a brother."

Quinn leans in close. "Don't want him to scare off any suitors, huh?"

"Please," Kayla scoffs. "Like he could even scare a puppy."

Quinn chuckles. "He has a reputation to uphold, you know? He tries to sell the badass image really hard."

Kayla just links her arm with Quinn's, absently reaching for Rachel's hand with her free one, and then the three of them are going to... mingle.

Still, Rachel isn't sure what to expect of a New York party, but it's apparently socially acceptable for three girls to dance really close together and not have anyone say anything about it, to them or to one another.

Or, they're just too drunk to care.

The drinks flow, but they do slow after the third or fourth one because Quinn wants _to remember every moment of this night_. Rachel blushes at the words, and she mentally promises Quinn a lot of wonderful, dirty things.

Rachel gets introduced to hundreds of people, mainly because Quinn refuses to let her leave her side again. More so when Kayla finds herself another dance partner whom she intends to keep. She disappears not long after, and Quinn receives a text minutes after that, that makes her blush.

"What?" Rachel asks, noting her reaction.

Quinn just hands her the phone, and Rachel reads the words: _Guess both Puckermans are getting laid tonight. Don't wait up_.

Rachel just giggles as she gives the phone back. "She'll be fine, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Quinn says. "She left with Matt Willow. He's a decent guy."

"Decent?"

"He's afraid of Noah, and he's aware I know his mother."

Rachel just laughs again, so mesmerised by this crazy life her girlfriend seems to be living. It's really her first glimpse into what Quinn's life is like beyond the screens of their phones and laptops. It's so amazing and a little daunting, because she doesn't know if she'll actually really fit into it when she finally makes it to New York.

Well.

If this night is anything to go on, she reckons she'll probably be able to hold her own.

* * *

"Can we get the fuck out of here?" Quinn murmurs against Rachel's neck. "I really want to kiss you in a way that's decidedly not suitable for public viewing."

Rachel sucks in a sharp breath, surprised by the fact Quinn presses so close behind her. Rachel's been watching the final of the beer pong tournament, finding herself getting rather invested in the outcome - Noah and his partner, Rebecca, are in the lead - but now Quinn is behind her, wanting to leave, and every single other thing in the world just pales in comparison.

Falls to nothing.

Ceases to exist entirely.

"Where would we go?" Rachel asks, sipping at her drink that's more a Coke than Rum.

"Anywhere," Quinn says; "but I have a few ideas."

"Okay."

If Rachel thinks it's going to be easy to leave, she's mistaken. Quinn is Quinn, and people have been vying for her attention every second they've been here. So, instead, the two of them wait to watch the conclusion of the beer pong game, and then Quinn pulls Noah aside to have a few words with him.

Rachel just watches as he nods at whatever Quinn is telling him, both their expressions surprisingly serious. They eventually share a quick hug, and then Quinn is heading in a direction entirely different to Rachel's, which Rachel realises was the plan all along.

Instead, Noah makes his way over towards her and smiles excitedly. "Did you check out my win?"

Rachel can't help her own smile. "It was impressive," she tells him, doing her best not to panic over the fact Quinn seems to have disappeared. "So, Rebecca, huh?"

He grins now, almost a smirk, as he steps a little closer. "She's totally interested, isn't she?"

"From the way she was feeling you up during that victory hug, definitely," she says. "I think you've got that locked in, which makes me wonder what you're doing over here talking to me."

He shrugs, and then sighs. "Well, Broadway, if you must know, I'm supposed to keep you distracted while Quinn says her farewells and then slips out of the party as undetected as the siren that is LQF _can_ , and _then_ I'm supposed to escort you to the elevator and send you to the roof."

Rachel just stares, a little dumbstruck, for a few long seconds, before she moves to hug him. "Honestly, Noah, Quinn is so lucky to have you."

He's clearly uncomfortable with the tender affection, so she releases him after a moment, "Yeah, whatever," he says. "Just, make sure you tell her, or whatever."

"Thank you," she says, and the tone of her voice tells them both she means it for far too many things that have nothing to do with this moment right now.

Noah pulls out his phone when it vibrates. "She's successfully made it," he says. "Now, it's your turn."

It's considerably less fanfare to get Rachel out of the large New York apartment, and Noah keys in the code to send her right up to the roof, his smile turning slightly saucy as the doors slide shut, drowning out her questions.

Rachel isn't entirely sure what she's expecting when she reaches her destination, but all words seem to escape her when she steps out into the chilled night and is awarded with the most glorious view of Manhattan she's ever seen. She's allowed only fourteen seconds to take it all in before she feels Quinn's presence at her right side.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Somehow, Rachel just knows Quinn isn't talking about the skyline that's on display in front of them, and she blushes because of it. She doesn't get the chance to respond, anyway, because Quinn's left hand is suddenly at the nape of her neck and she's being kissed so thoroughly that the rest of the world grinds to a halt all around them.

It's just a kiss, just an exploration of mouths, but Rachel feels as if this is the moment when Quinn accepts that they have a future beyond tonight and tomorrow and the next day. Maybe it was getting to experience this kind of night out _in her city_ , but it's definitely something.

Quinn eventually pulls away, and Rachel tries not to look too dazed from the intensity of the kiss. "So, I got you something."

Rachel blinks, her brain taking a while to catch up. "What? Why? Quinn, you didn't - "

"I wanted to," she gently interrupts, her hands sliding to Rachel's hips. "I really, really wanted to."

Rachel just hums, accepting without actually doing so.

"I love you," Quinn says, just because she can. "So, now that I have you here; I don't know if you remember or not, but I once declared that, when you were in New York, we would do one very specific thing together."

Rachel looks stumped for a moment, but then she clicks and smiles widely. Entirely too excitedly. "Broadway?"

Quinn grins knowingly, and then kisses her swiftly. "You and me, tomorrow's matinée, it's going to be amazing."

Rachel literally jumps in place. "What are we going to see?"

" _Wicked_."

" _Oh, my God_!" Rachel practically squeals, and then throws herself at Quinn, sending them both stumbling. "How on earth did you even get tickets? Hasn't it been sold out?"

Quinn is suddenly grateful Rachel can't see her face, because she's sure it would give her away immediately. "Just called in a few favours," she says, somewhat cryptically. "I'm sometimes famous, or whatever."

"I'm going to love you forever."

"Well, you could be loving me _right now_ , and yet…" she trails off, her intent clear.

Rachel takes a moment to look around. "You want to have sex on a roof?"

Quinn shakes her head. "No," she says. "I want to have sex. Period."

Oh.

The _where_ doesn't even matter.


	10. Chapter 10

**X**

As far as Rachel Berry is concerned, Sunday is honestly the best day of her young life. She's had a few, sure, great enough to make her list of top ten, but this one skyrockets straight to the top.

It, of course, starts with Quinn Fabray.

A very naked Quinn Fabray, who has her blonde head already working between Rachel's legs when chestnut eyes flutter open. There's a moment when Rachel is convinced she's dreaming, but then Quinn's tongue swirls around her clit and, okay, she's definitely awake now.

If she could have this every morning, well, she's not sure she would want to do anything else ever again in her life. Even singing doesn't beat this right now, because Quinn is very good at -

Rachel lets out an involuntary moan, her knees bending and her back arching, when Quinn flattens her tongue against her. She realises she should probably be hungover, or feel... something, but all those other sensations are overwhelmed and surpassed by the sheer pleasure Quinn's tongue is giving her.

It's slow.

So painfully, gloriously slow, and Rachel doesn't even know how Quinn even knows how to get her so close without letting her get to where she needs to. Quinn just takes her higher and higher, but she never quite lets her fall.

"Quinn, please," she begs, because she does that now. She'll do anything, at this point. "Please. I can't - I need - please - " Her fingers tangle in Quinn's hair, gripping hard, as her hips rock desperately in search of _something_.

But, Quinn holds back, just taking her to the edge without letting her reach the summit, and why is this even a thing that people do?

"Please," she pants again, and she's starting to think Quinn gets off on hearing her beg. If her mind were actually functioning, she would probably be making a mental note to explore that at a later time.

Right now, though, she's on the verge of tears because her girlfriend won't let her come.

"Please?"

Quinn uses fingers to enter her, and Rachel realises it's because she wants to use her mouth to taunt her. "Please what?" she says, and she's relentless, her fingers thrusting just hard and fast enough to keep her nearly-there. "Tell me what you want."

Rachel lets out a growl, almost petulant. "More," she pleads, way past being embarrassed by how much she wants this. _Needs_ this.

"Be specific," Quinn says, and now her teeth are nipping at the skin of her inner thighs, just teasing her. "I want to hear you say it," she says, and then stills completely. "Unless you want me to stop?"

"Don't you dare!" Rachel blurts, and she reaches blindly for any part of Quinn she can reach, trying to prompt her to continue moving.

Quinn lets out a soft laugh at her attempts.

"Jesus Christ," Rachel groans, irritated and so incredibly turned on, her entire body buzzing. "Can you just fucking let me come, already?"

Quinn lets out a quiet gasp at her cursing, and then gets back to work, her fingers resuming their movement.

Rachel lets out another handful of curses, saying words she won't remember when it's over.

"Like that?" Quinn asks through Rachel's dribble, and Rachel just moans in response, her fingers curling into the sheets at her sides, gripping them so hard, she might rip into the fabric. "And... I'll take that as a yes."

Rachel can barely formulate words at this point, and she's going to have a word with Quinn about this once this is over.

 _If_ it's ever over.

"Please, please," Rachel begs. "Please, Quinn, god, please." She's tempted to say and do anything at this point, so it's almost a surprise when Quinn actually does let it happen, giving her absolutely no warning.

Quinn flicks her tongue just right, hums softly, and then Rachel is taking off, her entire body coiled so tightly that the release is almost Earth-shattering.

 _Rachel_ is shattered.

Quinn, thankfully, moves away completely, and Rachel sees her smiling smugly as she tries to recover, her every muscle still twitching and her nerve-endings still firing.

Rachel doesn't even have the energy to speak, so she just lets them both bask in their significant moments. Quinn just rests her head against Rachel's abdomen, looking entirely content.

By Rachel's calculations, Quinn has given her eight orgasms in the last, uh, ten hours. It's as if she's making up for all the time they're going to be apart in the next few months, and Rachel isn't sure how she feels about it.

"Good morning," Quinn finally says.

Rachel lets out a breathless laugh. "I think you broke me," she says.

"Oh, baby, if I was trying to break you; I can assure you you'd know." The way she practically drawls the words makes Rachel hot all over again and, seriously, what is up with her libido? There's no way she could go again. She's completely over-sensitised.

Rachel lifts her head a little to take in Quinn's gorgeous face. "I wish I could wake up like that, every day."

"I'm pretty sure you threatened my life once or twice."

"Probably," Rachel says. "I plotted your murder about a hundred times while you practically tortured me." She drops her head, sighing. "Where did you even learn to do that?"

"I read about it," Quinn admits, yawning adorably. "I've been wanting to try it for a while."

"Quinn, we've been having sex for, like, a week," she points out.

"A little more than that," Quinn says; "and, excuse me, is that a complaint I hear?"

Rachel smoothes a hand over Quinn's soft hair. "If I had it my way, we wouldn't leave this bed."

"Tempting," Quinn murmurs, nuzzling Rachel's abdomen. "But, we do have things planned."

Rachel grins widely, suddenly remembering what's happening today. "I'm so excited."

Quinn lifts her head, resting her chin on warm skin. "I think I should warn you that I intend to spoil you rotten today," she says. "Like, this is going to be the best last day in New York you'll ever experience, and we've got the rest of our lives to top it."

Rachel groans, and she can't even be sure why.

"I mean, I'm even skipping church for you."

Rachel laughs, shaking her head. "I don't think there's enough repentance on Earth for what you just did to me."

"You keep complaining," Quinn muses.

Rachel drags her upwards to kiss her, essentially shutting her up.

Yip.

Best day ever.

* * *

"So, I may or may not have contacted Kurt about this," Quinn says, her fingers linked with Rachel's as she leads them through the New York crowds. "He gave me the idea a long time ago, and I was able to make it happen."

Rachel, predictably, has no idea what Quinn is talking about, but she's decided to ask as few questions as possible and just go with the flow. It goes against every fibre of her being, but she's trying to enjoy her last full day with Quinn without getting too emotional.

"Am I allowed to ask?" Rachel still ventures.

"You're definitely welcome to."

Rachel rolls her eyes, because how could she have expected anything different? She knows Quinn well enough at this point to know Quinn is probably enjoying this a little too much. Rachel just can't resist playing into her hands, either, but this is why they work so well, maybe. It also doesn't help that Quinn confiscated her phone before they left this morning, so there's also that.

Quinn is in charge of pictures, apparently.

She's in charge of everything, really.

Quinn glances at her watch as she speeds through the late morning pedestrian traffic, clearly in a rush to make it to their destination on time. Rachel has no idea where they are, but she does spot a sign reading Fifth Avenue, which niggles at the her brain like a terrible Math problem right until the moment she sees it.

_Tiffany and Co._

Rachel thinks she should have known, because Quinn is one of those people who just _does_ that.

"Don't worry," Quinn says, shooting a sly smile at Rachel. "I'm not planning on proposing any time soon." Well, _that_ holds a lot of promise, doesn't it? "We're having breakfast. Or brunch, I suppose, but we're going to call it breakfast, just to be authentic."

For some reason, the entire block looks different to how Rachel remembers when she was last here with Kurt. She thinks it must be because of Quinn, but she wouldn't even be able to explain that further. "I thought you _couldn't_ have breakfast at Tiffany's," Rachel says, jogging a little to keep up with Quinn, as she pushes through a revolving door to enter the building.

The rest is all a bit of a blur.

Quinn mentions something about the Blue Café being first-come-first-serve, on the fourth four, and is usually booked out completely, because people start waiting at around seven o'clock in the morning. Even earlier, depending on the time of year. She says something about midnight, and how people come far and wide to try the 'Tiffany Tea,' which is an assortment of finger sandwiches and sweets that arrive on a tiered stand.

Rachel gets the feeling she should be asking questions or paying closer attention, but her mind is a whirlwind of sights as they get to their destination, and Quinn steps up to the host stand where two smartly-dressed men wait.

One of them lights up at the sight of Quinn, and he immediately says, "And, there I was thinking you wouldn't make it." He's British, obvious from his accent, looking dapper and poised.

"Everyone's a critic," Quinn murmurs, and then tugs Rachel forward. "Edwin, this is Rachel. Rachel, meet Edwin, the light of my life, my dearest friend and - "

He waves a hand to keep her quiet. "I have you penned in. Ease up there, Blondie." He smiles at Rachel "It's lovely to meet you, dear."

"Oh, um, you too," she manages to say, slightly overwhelmed. There are a dozen or so young women lining the railing of the leading staircase, all looking into the Café with different levels of awe and envy. She's pretty sure she's going to be fielding off a few daggers once they're taken inside, if she's reading the situation carefully.

Maybe some of these people even recognise Quinn because, really, how else would Quinn be able to pull this off? If she can get this much play as a seventeen year old aspiring chef, Rachel can barely imagine the kind of force she's going to be in this industry when she's older.

Quinn is just going to get better and better. She's going to train even more for this career she wants for herself, and Rachel can do nothing more than admire her for it.

Rachel has big dreams for herself, she knows, but so does Quinn, and it amazes Rachel to see what she's already been able to accomplish. She reads up on techniques all the times, learns all she can and practices daily. It's a passion to her, and Rachel _loves_ passion.

She wonders, sometimes, if she loves performing as much as Quinn loves cooking. Maybe not. Performing has provided her an escape, sure, but it's also been fuel to a terrible, awful fire, and it isn't always a comfort.

Maybe it'll be different when she gets to New York. Maybe, when she's away from those heathens and in a place that cultivates talent and passion, she'll be able to reach the heights for which Quinn believes she's destined.

It's what happened to Quinn, after all.

They end up having to wait another two minutes before a server appears at their side, looking chipper, and says, "Good morning, welcome, you made it!" His smile is almost blinding, and Rachel has half a mind to reach for her sunglasses to shield her eyes.

"Please come with me," he says, and then leads the way to their table.

Quinn absently grabs her hand, and she follows in silence. Some people turn to look at them and, if any recognise Quinn, Rachel can't tell. She's not even paying attention, really, because of the view and the smell and _Quinn_ and -

Quinn pulls out her chair for her, and Rachel offers her a grateful smile as she slips into it.

It's a date, definitely, right out in the open, but nobody would ever question it. It's not out of place. It's not even a blip on a monster of a radar.

Rachel _loves_ New York City.

"So," Quinn says. "Breakfast is kind a prix fixe here, and you basically just get what you get when you pay."

"And they have a vegan option?"

Quinn hesitates. "Yes."

Rachel's eyes narrow. "Quinn?"

The blonde blushes slightly. "It's not exactly… known," she confesses. "It's like a secret menu kind of situation."

Rachel isn't sure she actually believes her, but she's not going to argue it now.

Maybe later.

Or, maybe when she's back in Lima.

Or, never, who knows?

She's in a bit of a pleasant daze, if she's being honest. An endless number of orgasms will do that to you, she thinks.

Rachel spends most of her time watching Quinn, listening to her talk and hearing her without actually _hearing_ her. This entire moment feels like something out of a movie, which might actually be Quinn's intention. Rachel just sits and watches Quinn's mouth move, her hands wave through the air and her eyes shine so wonderfully. Her cheeks are a little flushed as she dissects the menu, jumping a little in her seat at the idea of what she's about to consume.

Rachel lets Quinn order for her, because she's really not paying attention to the food.

Quinn gets coffee, and she gets tea, which makes Rachel want to kiss her.

Well, she always wants to kiss her, really.

When their croissants arrive, Quinn hums in delight, and then proceeds to explain that they make the vegan croissants with something called Miyokos vegan butter, which is an actual _butter_. "I use it a lot," she says, carefully spreading Nutella over one half of her pastry. "Especially now I have a vegan girlfriend. I have to stock up on all these substitutes and alternatives." She casually slides the almond butter across the table towards Rachel. "And, croissants just won't work with margarine. Believe me, I've tried."

"I remember that," Rachel says, her own actions automatic as she basks in Quinn's warmth. The sunlight is hitting her just right, and Rachel can't bear to look away from her for a second. "I think it was during one of your 'Tackling the Myths' videos, and you proved margarine doesn't work."

Quinn's face splits into a wide grin.

Rachel looks back, perplexed. "What?"

"Nothing," she says, her voice soft. "I just - sometimes, I forget you're actually a _fan_."

"Oh, my God."

Quinn laughs. "I'm sorry," she says. "It's just so freaking cute." She takes a bite of her croissant. "Tell me, baby, can you recite, like, every video?"

If Rachel weren't in public, she would probably throw something at her. Instead, she turns her head to the side and pointedly ignores Quinn's snicker.

Quinn quiets moments later, and then spreads honey butter over the other half of her croissant. She wants to be able to experience everything, apparently.

Next, they're served a selection of seasonal fruits: watermelon and mango and strawberries and grapes and pineapple and all those lovely summer fruits that are bright and sweet.

And juicy, apparently, as Rachel catches herself staring at a trickle attempting to escape the side of Quinn's mouth before she wipes it away with her napkin. The entire moment does nothing to quench her raging desire, and she has to sip some of her iced water to cool herself.

It's almost ridiculous. She didn't think she would be this insatiable.

For their entrées, Quinn's selection is truffled eggs with bacon - _of course_ \- and Rachel's is vegan waffles with maple syrup.

"I swear," Quinn says; "I would have cried tears if you told me you wanted avocado toast."

"I think I would have, as well," she says. "Kurt also, probably, would have murdered me if all I had for breakfast at Tiffany's was avocado toast."

"It's so… Californian."

Rachel giggles. "Don't be Coast- _ist_ , Quinn," she says. "I'm quite certain a healthy chunk of your fanbase exists on the West Coast."

" _Especially_ after all that gluten-free stuff the _Twitter-verse_ practically nagged me into exploring."

"You are a girl of the people."

"I should run for president."

"You already did," Rachel points out, and then smiles proudly. "Look at you, my little Student Council President."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "I really don't even know what I was thinking," she admits. "I don't know why I'm creating _more_ work for myself. I have a hard enough time keeping up with the rest of my life, as it is."

Rachel pauses her eating, her eyes taking in Quinn's face. She's generally very calm and relaxed, happier these days than Rachel has ever seen her before, but, with school starting up again soon, Rachel can't help but wonder _if_ Quinn actually copes with everything the way she wants them all to believe. This is really the first time Quinn has even alluded to struggling to keeping up with all her commitments in Rachel's presence.

Sure, she complains about schoolwork and cheerleading practice and her lack of sleep every week, but this complaint sounds and feels as if it's rooted in a different truth. There's more expected of her this year: high school, college applications, her potential career, her _YouTube_ videos, her growing brand.

Everything.

Quinn eats a forkful of eggs. "I guess, this way, I can help implement some more anti-bullying actions," she says, suddenly thoughtful. "It's mainly what I ran on, anyway. That, and the cafeteria food. You can imagine how much of a splash that made, given my culinary prowess." She waggles her eyebrows playfully. "Oh, I have such big plans to revamp the entire menu."

Rachel tries to clear her head of her previous thoughts. "I think the best thing on our menu is… water, probably," she says, laughing softly. "And tater tots."

"They actually serve those?"

Rachel nods. "They're a school favourite."

"They're terrible for you."

"Well, Quinn, when you're president of the country, you'll be able to tackle all these universal problems." It's meant to come out as light teasing, but Quinn's expression is serious. She gets this look, sometimes - Rachel calls it her thinking-face - where she's visibly plotting and planning for her next endeavour or recipe or _something_ , and it is so infuriatingly attractive.

Quinn sets her fork against the edge of her plate and leans forward. "I have an idea," she says. "I mean, I imagine there are a lot of teenagers out there who _do_ want healthier options in their schools, right?"

Rachel just nods, indicating she's listening.

"If _I_ can manage to pull it off, who's to say other kids can't, right?" She purses her lips. "All it takes is one, and then another one, and another and, before we know it, we've made America healthy again."

Rachel just smiles, entirely too knowingly.

"I think this'll be my next project," Quinn declares. "My school. Noah's school. Kayla's. Yours. Whoever will take up the challenge, really. I can plan out simple, tasty menus with easy recipes to be prepared in bulk that won't shirk on flavour and nutrients while still remaining within the school's allocated food budget." She nods her head once, as if she's fortifying the idea, committing it to her mental list of to-dos, and then smiles this happy smile.

Rachel wonders what she was ever worried about.

Quinn _loves_ this.

And, Rachel loves Quinn.

There's really nothing more to it.

* * *

Once they've eaten and taken all the expected pictures, they wander around the home-goods floor, giggling about crystal decanters and candlesticks while pretending they're in a Audrey Hepburn- _esque_ film. Rachel is overly dramatic about everything they come across, and Quinn just basks in it, her eyes never straying.

"One day, we're going to do something like this," Quinn says after a long moment.

"What?"

"We're going to go into a store, and we're going to register, and we're going to browse and have little debates and arguments, and we're going to - "

"Quinn," Rachel says, cutting her off. "I'm going to need you to stop talking if you want us not to get arrested for public indecency."

Quinn actually chokes on air; she's caught so off guard, and Rachel uses the opportunity to twirl around and then slip into another aisle. She thinks they might both need a little moment apart to compose themselves, or they really _will_ have a law enforcement problem with which to deal, and she's pretty sure that won't be good for either of their future careers.

Quinn lets her browse for nearly half an hour before she says they have to start heading to Broadway. Just the reminder of the upcoming afternoon has her grinning like a crazy person. Truly. If people were to look too closely, they would probably think she's manic or something. How can this day possibly get any better?

Before they leave, though, Quinn buys Rachel a crystal picture frame. "For one of the pictures we just took upstairs," Quinn explains. "And, come on, did you really think we were going to come in here and leave empty-handed?"

Rachel thanks her quietly, leaning in to kiss her cheek, and then they finally get on their way.

Quinn leads with the confidence of a New-Yorker, and Rachel can only hope she'll be this comfortable in this city one day. When it becomes her home in a year's time, she's going to embrace every aspect of it, and she's sure it'll help knowing she has Quinn around.

It should scare her, maybe, that she's already planning for a year away with the same girl, but it doesn't. She doesn't imagine, for a second, anything about the next years of their lives is going to be easy, but she carries this stubborn certainty that they're always going to be able to work things out. They've made it this far; they can make it anywhere.

Quinn holds her hand the entire way to Broadway, and her heart is so full; she doesn't know how it still fits in her chest.

"I'm kind of sad that I didn't get to lose my Broadway virginity with you," Quinn says, seemingly intending to startle Rachel, which she succeeds at when Rachel trips over nothing.

Quinn laughs happily, and Rachel sticks out her tongue at her. "Be careful what you do with that," she says, eyeing the pink muscle. "I have many, many plans for it."

Rachel can barely even look at her right now, so she doesn't, and Quinn's laughter follows them all the way to the Gershwin Theatre.

It looks different at this time of day. There are more people around, most of them looking eager and a few looking as if they were dragged here against their will. Quinn looks to exist somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, but she's still the one who seems to know what she's doing.

Rachel just follows her through presenting their tickets, getting their playbills and some refreshments while they wait for the signal to enter the theatre.

"I feel as if I should have dressed up," Rachel says, glancing down at her attire.

"It's a matinée, Rachel," Quinn says.

"But this place is sacred, Quinn," she argues.

Quinn steps closer to her, their glasses of water pressed between their bodies. "Well, we can always come back," she says. "I can assure you, Rachel Berry, that this is going to be our lives soon, okay? One day, we're going to be able to do this whenever we want."

"You have great faith in our potential future."

"I do," she says. "But, also, you know, I suspect I'll be coming a lot on my own, though."

Rachel's an idiot, really, because she asks, "Why?"

"To see you on stage," Quinn says, almost incredulously. "Keep up, Berry."

Rachel blushes, and then kisses her cheek. "You are my favourite human being in the world, did you know that?"

"That's really not what you were saying this morning," Quinn murmurs.

"I wanted to kill you this morning," Rachel agrees.

"I can assure you that you'll feel the same way later tonight."

"High promises, Fabray."

"I plan to deliver."

Rachel has no doubt about it, truly, because, if she's considered insatiable, Quinn seems to be trying to leave her mark on her.

Well, _more_ marks.

Rachel wants to kiss her. She wants to drag her away to a dark place and do dirty, dirty things to her. She almost does, really, but then the bell to enter the theatre sounds, and that thought gets replaced by what she's about to witness.

Of course, Rachel knows this musical inside and out. She's never watched it live, even when it went on its travels, but she knows all the words to every song and she knows the story inside-out.

Quinn knows the story, as well, because she's an avid reader.

"It's a little different, though," Rachel explains as they find their seats. On the floor, to the right, in the eighth row. The seats are far better than Rachel could have ever anticipated, but she's doing that thing and not asking too many questions.

"I hope so," Quinn says, shifting to get a little more comfortable. "It's a little dark, otherwise."

Rachel nods absently, her head turning this way and that to take it all in. The theatre is filling up slowly, and Rachel vibrates a little in her seat. There's this buzz in the air. People who come to matinées come for the show, really, and not for anything else.

Quinn rests her hand on Rachel's thigh, as if she just wants to touch her.

Rachel glances at her. "You're not allowed to distract me during the show," she instructs, trying to sound stern.

Quinn grins at her. "Would I even be able to?"

Rachel wants to lie, but she can't. "Probably," she says. "You're very attractive and persuasive and I kind of want you like all the time."

"Oh?"

"Please don't try, though," Rachel says. "I want to be able to concentrate."

"I don't think I won't be able not to touch you," Quinn admits. "So, is this okay?" she asks, gesturing at her hand's placement on her leg.

Rachel nods. "If you're good, I'll let you touch me as much as you want and wherever you want later tonight."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "I'm pretty sure you'd still let me, even if I'm bad."

"But you're not going to be, are you?"

Quinn just smiles, and then looks at her playbill, feigning innocence.

Oh, it's going to be a long show, isn't it?

* * *

It's not.

In fact, it flies past.

In the blink of an eye, it's over, and Rachel can't even remember what happens. Or, she does. She doesn't know.

The show is amazing. Her mouth moves along to all the songs, and she sits on the edge of her seat for nearly the entire production. She's vaguely aware of Quinn beside her, hazel eyes watching her instead of the stage from time to time.

But, other than that, she sees and hears Elphaba and the wonder that is _Popular_ and she's so lost and happy and in love. This is the best thing Quinn could have ever done fo her, and she's overwhelmed by everything.

She doesn't even notice when it's over, but then people are standing and applauding and Quinn is lifting to her feet to do the same. It's been such a rush, and she can't stop herself from telling Quinn she wants to do it all over again.

"Soon," Quinn promises, before she leads the way out, taking Rachel right around the theatre to await the emergence of some of the cast.

Rachel recognises a lot of them from her knowledge of Broadway circles, obviously, and she's relieved the formed crowd isn't too big or too rowdy. Quinn manages to manoeuvre them to a position near the rail, and she presses Rachel up against the metal, engulfing her in warmth and bodily separating her from the other enthusiasts. Her hero.

There's a large noise when the backstage door opens, and Rachel experiences yet another rush. This entire day has been intense and unforgettable, from the moment she woke up. Still, she thinks that, even if they did none of these amazing things, it would still be the best day, merely because she would get to spend it with Quinn.

It sounds pathetic, she knows, but she's going to allow herself to be a lovesick fool for a little bit longer.

* * *

When they eventually leave the theatre, Rachel is still on a high. With her hand held securely in Quinn's, the blonde could probably take her anywhere in the world and Rachel wouldn't notice until they actually arrived at their destination.

They end up going to a tiny café for cheesecake and milkshakes. Well, Quinn orders a milkshake and Rachel opts for lemonade, despite Quinn's protests. It is a hot day after all, and Rachel decides she's going to indulge if Quinn is going to. It's their last day and night together until the horror that can be high school reclaims majority of their lives, and Rachel is enjoying every second of it.

Quinn happily plays footsie with her under the table, looking completely unaffected herself, even while Rachel can't stop the bright smile from holding her face hostage or the heat of arousal spreading up her neck and cheeks.

Quinn is doing that talking thing again, excitement in her eyes and her hands waving as she explains that this particular café is famous for its sometimes-outrageous milkshake flavours.

"We really can order a vegan version of any of them," Quinn says. "They have some of the coolest combinations, Broadway. And they make them look like artwork. They're definitely 'Gram worthy."

Rachel just smiles at her. "I'm happy with my cheesecake, Quinn," she says. She's pretty much the happiest she's ever been, really, so the cheesecake is actually rather moot at this point.

It still tastes good, though.

And Quinn's milkshake, well, it's… best described as some kind of monstrosity. A sugar-overload. A diabetic episode just waiting to happen.

Still, Quinn grins like a toddler when their server sets the 'milkshake' in front of her, and Rachel can only stare, slack-jawed. The thing is almost as big as Quinn's head, though it has nothing on her smile.

"What did you _order_?" Rachel finds herself asking as Quinn snaps a quick picture of it - probably for _Instagram_ later - because Rachel really wasn't paying attention earlier.

Quinn reaches for her spoon - because, apparently, you need a spoon for this supposed 'milkshake' - and scoops up some ice-cream and something that looks like caramel. "It's a slated peanut nougat caramel shake," she says around her spoon. "God, it's so good," she groans. "See, we've got these dribbles of salted peanut caramel here. Happiness. This is, uh, whipped chocolate mousse. Oh, my God. Look at this, Sweets. It's an actual frozen Snickers s'more."

Rachel blinks.

"Salted peanut caramel ice cream, dipped in chocolate, rolled in fresh marshmallow and torched," Quinn explains at her blank look. "Fuck," she murmurs; "you're going to have to help me work off all of this later."

Rachel's breath catches.

Later can't come fast enough.

* * *

'Later' gets unwittingly postponed by Quinn's parents, who are busy in the kitchen when the two of them finally make it home after what has been the best day of Rachel's life, hands down.

"We're making dinner," Russell declares as Quinn leads the way into what is usually her domain. It's a lot messier because of it. Quinn's a very clean chef, probably trained from her work at Le Rendezvous. "It's Rachel's last night, and I reckon 'Precious-Hands' over here deserves the night off."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "My hands are my lifeblood, Dad. Stop hating."

"That line's getting old, Sweetheart," he says, and then looks at Rachel. "You don't mind, do you? I promise it's vegan."

"Oh," Rachel sounds. "I - I don't - umm, that sounds lovely, thank you."

Russell grins at Quinn. "See?"

Judy looks up from whatever pot she has going on the stovetop. "Quinnie, why didn't you say that cooking vegan was so… uh…" she trails off.

"Constricting?" Quinn offers. "Suffocating? Painful?"

Rachel pinches her side and she yelps, still smiling,

"Something like that," Judy says, wincing slightly.

Quinn laughs. "Mom, you know there's an entire vegan-friendly section in the pantry. We have substitutes for practically everything."

"I know," Judy says, sighing. "I just _really_ want to add some cream into this sauce." She looks at Rachel. "Honey, why do you do this to yourself?"

Rachel is thoroughly amused, and she hides her smile behind Quinn's shoulder. "You know none of this is necessary, right?" she mumbles, her cheeks flushed at the attention.

"Nonsense," Russell says, waving her off.

"Do you need any help?" Quinn offers anyway.

"No, no," Judy says, coming around the island as if to shuffle them out of the kitchen. "You two just leave us to it. We _can_ cook, you know? We managed to keep ourselves fed before you were even a hint of a thought."

Quinn smiles. "But not as good as me, right? Let's be honest."

"Shoo," Judy says, actually pushing on Quinn's shoulder. "Go. Keep yourselves occupied. I'm sure you can think of something."

Quinn almost baulks at the suggestion in her mother's voice, and her eyes widen, a blush blooming on her cheeks.

"I didn't mean _that_ ," Judy rushes to say. "No, none of that. At least wait until we've all gone to bed. What I meant is, you know, go and help Rachel finish packing or something."

"Okay, Mom," Quinn says, ready to make her escape.

"Frannie's supposed to be joining us, so we'll come get you when she's here and dinner's ready," she says.

"Okay," Quinn says, nodding her head and then turning immediately, grabbing Rachel's hand and practically dragging her out of the room with Russell's laughter following them out.

Quinn doesn't stop walking until they're safely behind her closed bedroom door. She's completely flushed, and Rachel can't help her giggle.

"It's not funny," Quinn says, pouting like an insolent child. "My parents know we have sex, Rachel. Like, they actually _know_ , and you're just okay with it?"

Rachel shrugs. "Maybe not in the beginning," she confesses. "But, it is what it is. We have sex, Quinn. Your parents know, and they're not... weirded out about it."

"Weirded out because we're both girls?"

"Weirded out because I'm essentially defiling their baby girl."

Quinn groans. "Do you have to put it like that?" she asks. "And, really, if anything, _I'm_ the one who's doing the defiling here."

"When?"

"Later."

"Empty promises, Fabray."

Quinn steps up to her, her hands finding purchase on familiar hips. "Rachel Berry," she murmurs.

"Quinn Fabray," Rachel returns, a little bemused.

"My mom says I can't have sex with you until everyone's gone to bed," she says, almost whining, and Rachel laughs. "But, I do have permission to help you pack, apparently."

"Does that mean you're going to?"

"Fuck no," Quinn says, dropping her hands and moving towards her dock station. "As if I would willingly participate in helping you leave me. Be serious, Broadway."

Rachel watches her carefully, noting the tension in her shoulders and the way she won't look her in the eye. Rachel sighs, and then moves towards her open suitcase to assess the damage.

Her laundry's been done, naturally, after Italy, and there's a pile of her clothes on Quinn's desk. She's vaguely aware of Quinn putting on some soft music as she contemplates where to begin. There's a bit of shuffling behind her, and then she feels soft hands on her hips and the press of a warm body against her back.

"Can I distract you now?" Quinn murmurs.

"You heard your mother."

"I don't have to touch you to distract you."

"Oh?"

"I just prefer it."

Rachel leans into her, enjoying the feel of her. "You can touch me while I work," she says. "Just, you know, keep those hands where I can see them."

Quinn hums in acceptance, and that's how they spend the next hour: Rachel packing her suitcase and Quinn's hands all over her.

It's odd, Rachel thinks, that Quinn is actually able to do this to her. Okay. Not so much odd, but it should be worrying, maybe.

Quinn kisses her neck. "So."

Rachel lets out a shaky breath. "So."

"I have a question."

"Ask away."

Quinn nuzzles her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. "Did you know we've been together for five months?"

Rachel glances over her shoulder at her, only to be met with a soft press of lips to her own. "Hmm," she hums. "Well, I haven't really been paying that much attention to time milestones in this relationship."

"Oh?"

"Other ones though, definitely," she says. "First phone call, first kiss, first _Skype_ date, first date, first make-out, first - "

"Quinn! Rachel! Frannie's here!" Judy suddenly calls out, and Quinn lets out a soft groan.

"Still waiting on the first time we get caught doing something naughty, huh?" Quinn teases, reluctantly stepping back from Rachel and moving to her dock station to switch off the music. She lifts her phone to check her messages while she's there, and Rachel has a sudden thought.

"You still have my phone."

Quinn startles, and then smiles. "Oh, yeah," she says, moving to her desk to retrieve the device from one of the drawers. She hands it to Rachel, and then pauses, a frown on her face.

Rachel notices. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Quinn says. "Just, uh, maybe you shouldn't turn it on yet."

Rachel blinks. "Why not?"

"Oh, uh, I guess maybe you kind of forgot that I kind of introduced you to all my subscribers today."

And, okay, Rachel has to admit she actually _did_ forget. The day has been so wonderful, and, yes, Quinn is probably right. She doesn't want to deal with any of that right now. She'll have plenty of time to field questions and theories once Quinn is out of touching distance.

Because, right now, she's not, so Rachel reaches out to do just that, unable to help herself.

"I love you," she says. "I love you so much."

Quinn looks a little bemused, but she still smiles in response. "I love you, too," she says, stealing the quickest of kisses. "Now, I think my parents are waiting for us. I suspect they're probably almost as devastated about your departure as I am." She kisses Rachel again. "They don't just cook for anyone, you know?" Another kiss, this one deep and lingering. "Especially vegan food. They _must_ love you." The next kiss leaves Rachel breathless. "You're basically part of the family. Welcome to the batshit crazy, my dear." She's seconds from going in for another kiss when they hear Frannie shout out for them this time.

Quinn laughs. "We'd better get going before she comes here and embarrasses the pants off me."

Rachel gives her a very significant look. "I'm the only one allowed to take off those pants."

Quinn grins, her eyes shining. "Noted."

* * *

Dinner with just Quinn's parents is very different when Frannie is added to the mix, Rachel quickly comes to learn.

Frannie is an instigator, plain and simple. She's dramatic, with a little too much enthusiasm for creating awkward situations, and she has absolutely no filter when it comes to talking about sex.

God.

Rachel can't imagine if it would be better or worse if she and Quinn actually weren't active in that department.

Quinn is bright red. Rachel can barely breathe. Russell is chalky white, and Judy just sips at her wine, thoroughly enjoying everyone's discomfort.

It goes on for a little too long, and Rachel takes it upon herself to bring an end to it by very casually saying to Frannie, "I'm quite certain Quinn has given me more orgasms in the past week than Simon has given you in your entire relationship."

And, well, that certainly shuts up the older Fabray daughter.

Judy bursts out laughing.

Quinn drops her head onto the table with a heavy thud.

Russell closes his eyes and shakes his head. "I don't even know what to do with myself right now," he mutters.

"Frannie started it," Quinn says, almost whining.

Frannie looks suitably impressed. "And, Rachel's just ended it," she says. "I approve of this matchup."

"Like I even care what you think," Quinn says, still a little irritated.

"Well, I care what you think," Frannie murmurs, suddenly dropping her gaze.

Quinn frowns at her tone of voice. "Fran?"

Frannie clears her throat. "Simon asked me to marry him last night," she says, and she sounds oddly detached.

"Oh, Honey," Judy says, a smile threatening to break out.

"I said no," Frannie says.

"What?" Quinn squeaks, surprised.

"Well, I said not yet, really," she says, looking thoughtful. "He's... not very with the times, and I won't have that kind of person around my family forever."

Nobody knows what to say.

Frannie shifts her food around. "I know none of you really like him, but he's been good to me," she says. "I love him, and I would like to spend the rest of my life with him, so I want to give him the chance to reevaluate his ideals. My sister is gay, and he's going to need to get over his prejudices or we're never going to work out in the long term."

Quinn lets out a shaky breath. "Frannie," she whispers.

"I'm okay," Frannie insists. "I am, really. We're just taking a break or whatever." She looks at Quinn. "I didn't out you, if you're worried. It's just a conversation we've been having because I wanted to know his thoughts on it, and I was... disappointed. I've tried to educate him on it, but his family is... the way we used to be, I suppose." She sighs. "You'd think New York would make him see things a little clearer."

"It takes time," Judy offers.

"I know," Frannie says. "Which is what I'm giving him." She sits back. "I wouldn't want to marry someone who wouldn't accept my sister in our home or think there's something wrong with her. I don't want to raise kids with someone who would teach them this love right in front of me is wrong. I won't and I can't."

Quinn gets to her feet quite suddenly and rounds the table to bury Frannie in a fierce hug. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

"Don't you dare," Frannie chastises, breathing into Quinn's hair. "Don't you dare apologise for who you are."

"I love you."

"I love you, too," Frannie says, and her voice sounds a little stronger.

Quinn hugs her for a moment more, before she straightens. She looks thoughtful as she stands there, and then she smiles this smile that's more of a smirk. "Frannie, I think everything is going to be okay," she says.

Frannie looks up at her, curious. "Why do you say that?"

"Simon's a cyborg," she says with a grin. "Easily reprogrammable."

And, Frannie just laughs and laughs.

(Quinn turns out to be right.)

(Not about the cyborg part, though, to her immense disappointment.)

* * *

"I don't want you to leave," Quinn says, pouting adorably as she sits cross-legged on her bed, her arms folded across her chest and looking all for the world like a petulant toddler who isn't getting her way.

God. Rachel is so in love. It's honestly pathetic just how gooey she is inside.

"Can't I keep you for a little longer?" Quinn asks, and it's a genuine whine. She doesn't even look unashamed, and Rachel just giggles to herself. Quinn is adorable like this, her lips in a cute pout, her eyes heavy and her brow creased. There's just something so incredibly endearing about her, and Rachel is sorely tempted to snap a picture of her exactly like this.

"Move back," she says instead. "Lean against your headboard."

Quinn looks perplexed for a moment, but she eventually does as she's told. Her eyes are so wide and trusting as she watches Rachel make sure the door is locked and then shuffle towards the dock station.

Rachel feels nerves hit her as soon as she presses play on the predetermined song, but one look at the way Quinn's eyes have darkened throws all nerves out the window. She never thought she would be the type of girl to do a strip tease, but she's learned a hell of a lot about herself since she discovered Quinn.

All the unknown about their relationship - when are they going to see each other again? - has really accelerated their physical relationship, she thinks. She has no regrets about any of it, of course, but she does get the impression they might have taken things a bit slower if they lived in the same town.

Well, if they lived in Lima.

New York City is its own other beast.

And it's in this heady, seductive city that Rachel Berry is going to attempt to strip for Quinn Fabray for the first time. (She'll go on to do it another nineteen times during their entire relationship, but this one will always be her favourite. It's really the wide-eyed look of shock on Quinn's face that does it for her in the end, and she'll wish she took the time to take that picture she initially thought to for years to come.)

As much as Rachel _wants_ to torture Quinn with this, _she's_ also a little impatient, which means her clothes come off rather quickly: shirt, tank top, jeans… all cast aside as Quinn's eyes grow impossibly darker and wider. It's almost as if she doesn't know where to look, her eyes darting from moving lips to swinging hips in indecision.

"No," Quinn suddenly says when Rachel's fingers slide to the clasp of her bra behind her back. "I want to do that," she says at Rachel's questioning expression. "Come here."

"Come where?"

Quinn lets out a shaky breath, and then pats her lap. "Here," she says unnecessarily.

Rachel barely hesitates. They've wasted enough time, anyway. She drops her hands and then climbs onto the bed, moving to straddle Quinn's thighs with the kind of confidence she seems able to muster only in front of this girl who looks at her as if she's complete magic.

Quinn audibly swallows, reaching one hand out to slide it beneath Rachel's hair. The pressure of those fingers against the back of her neck has Rachel automatically leaning forward and pressing their lips together, releasing a gentle sigh at the first contact.

Quinn's other hand moves to Rachel's lower back, holding as tightly as possible and pulling Rachel flush against her body. They kiss for long, long moments before Rachel pushes on Quinn's shoulders.

"Lie back," she murmurs against wet lips, and Quinn pouts before complying, somehow manoeuvring without releasing the brunette. Rachel lifts herself up onto her knees to allow Quinn to slip down the bed until she's almost fully horizontal against the pillows. Once she's settled, Rachel is on her again, straddling her waist this time.

Quinn uses her grip on the nape of Rachel's neck to bring her back down to resume their kissing. It's so deliciously slow, a harmony of moans as their tongues dance around each other and their hips attempt to find a pleasurable rhythm.

Rachel sighs into Quinn's mouth, her loose hair curtained around them, falling into both of their faces. Quinn reaches up to push it back for her, and Rachel breaks the kiss to look down at her, almost desperate to take in everything she can about this moment.

Wide, unblinking eyes are looking up at her with such love and affection and devotion, and Rachel feels otherworldly in the moment. It's almost as if Quinn is seeing her properly for the first time, and it's overwhelming and amazing and Rachel wishes they could freeze this moment forever.

Quinn's hand moves, her thumb rubbing a soft circle against Rachel's temple, their lips mere inches from one another.

"You are so beautiful," Quinn whispers, the awe in her voice nearly Rachel's undoing. There have been many moments like this during their short romance, but Rachel can't help wondering if this is the very moment her entire future is decided. Willingly. Wholeheartedly. It barely matters what else happens in her life; as long as she has this girl with her.

Rachel just manages to catch sight of Quinn's happy, content smile, before she just _has_ to kiss her again. She pours every bit of herself into the kiss, pressing her body against Quinn's, letting her tongue slide as deep into Quinn's mouth as it can go and feeling the muscles between her legs squeezing when Quinn groans in response.

Suddenly, Quinn's hands are at her waist, clawing against her tanned skin but doing nothing else. It's such sweet, sweet torture, and Quinn's hips lift again, searching for something, anything.

Quinn groans again, and Rachel smiles against her lips. She slides her own hands up, removing Quinn's from her sides and pinning them against the mattress. In this position, she's able to grind her core ever so slowly against Quinn's abdomen, all while keeping their mouths moving, her heart delighting at the soft whimpers filling her ears.

Rachel can feel that steady pulsing between her legs growing stronger and more erratic, almost matching the frantic pounding in her chest as she continues to roll her hips forward.

Quinn wriggles her fingers beneath Rachel's grip, pulling slightly, as if she's trying to break free, which isn't happening, and they both know it. Rachel just tightens her grip, and Quinn throws her head back and moans, finally tearing her mouth away.

Rachel trails her lips downwards, covering the column of Quinn's neck in soft, wet kisses that make both of their toes curl. It's intoxicating and Rachel feels drunk on the taste of Quinn's skin. She finally releases Quinn's fingers when she reaches the neckline of her shirt. With both hands, she pulls the collar downwards and slowly drags her tongue along the edge of Quinn's collarbone, relishing in every shudder that ripples through the body squirming beneath hers.

Quinn's fingers work their way into Rachel's hair, once again holding it away from her face as she buries herself in Quinn's neck, gently nipping the delicate skin, leaving marks that are going to last long past her departure.

Quinn arches her body off the bed when Rachel travels further south, reaching the bottom of her shirt and pushing it roughly upwards, and presses her mouth hotly against the taut muscles of her stomach. She can feel them tensing against her lips as she moves upwards, dragging her tongue from Quinn's navel to her sternum, her hands sliding up underneath Quinn's shirt. When they find her breasts, she immediately squeezes, coaxing another soft moan from swollen, pink lips. Rachel bites her own bottom lip as she looks up to find Quinn's eyes staring desperately down at her.

Rachel almost speaks, but Quinn forces herself up onto her elbows and immediately reaches out one hand for the back of Rachel's neck, pulling her back up and into a gentle, all-consuming kiss.

With her hands still slowly kneading at Quinn's breasts, Rachel pushes her back down against the mattress, sitting upright on top of her. With a soft sigh, she looks down at the girl below her: Quinn's short hair is spread out in a messy halo around her, her old t-shirt is pushed up around her chest, and her breasts are exposed and heaving beneath Rachel's hands. It's the most amazing thing Rachel has ever seen.

Quinn even has a familiar flush in her cheeks that makes Rachel's knees go weak. When Rachel gently catches her nipples between thumb and forefinger, Quinn's eyes snap shut automatically, her upper body rising off of the mattress in a delicious curve. The sight is so arousing and, seeing as Rachel has been dealing with it simmering at the surface the entire day, she really can't be blamed for what happens next.

Rachel falls forwards and lets her mouth replace one of her hands, slowly dragging her tongue over Quinn's stiff nipple. Quinn continues to wriggle beneath her, her hands in Rachel's hair, holding her in place as she practically offers up her body to Rachel's exploring tongue. Her pulse is thundering in her ears as she feels Rachel's lips close around her nipple, sucking it into her mouth, and she lets out a moan that surprises even her. Her whole body arches up again, her panties wet and sticking uncomfortably.

Too uncomfortable, really, and her mind skips several thoughts before she's suddenly pushing Rachel away from her, knocking her onto the mattress with the intention of switching their positions.

Rachel watches as Quinn clambers on top of her, reaching back for a second to peel off her socks before grabbing the bottom of her shirt and tugging it off of her body. Rachel pushes herself up onto her elbows, watching as Quinn's breasts bounce slightly with the movement. Wow. She's gay.

She's so very gay.

With her own upper body exposed, Quinn pauses to look down at Rachel, absently wondering how it is she's ended up this lucky. It's unheard of, really. This kind of happiness doesn't exist. And, to find it this early in life; she has to pinch herself to make sure she's not dreaming.

Rachel raises her eyebrows, asking the silent question.

Quinn just smiles, and then traces her fingers over the lace of Rachel's bra. "You know," she murmurs. "I actually think I want to leave this on."

Rachel glances down at the item in question: black and lace and silk. It's not her finest, but Quinn seems rather enamoured by it. It does make her chest look impressive, if she's allowed to say.

Quinn's fingers trail downwards until the catch the waistband of her panties. "These, however, they definitely need to go." Before Rachel can even register the movement, Quinn has shuffled back and tugged the panties straight down her legs, casually tossing them over her shoulder. The act, itself, is oddly possessive, and Rachel is _throbbing_.

"How do you want me?" Quinn murmurs, and Rachel hears herself groan. Quinn's eyes are dark and hungry, and Rachel can barely look at her, collapsing back onto the bed with a suddenly dry mouth - all the moisture has diverted southward.

Rachel keeps her eyes fixed on the ceiling, worried that looking at Quinn right now will leave her suffering from dehydration. "Anything," she breathes. "Just, anything, please."

Quinn immediately settles on her knees between Rachel's legs and slides her arms around each of Rachel's thighs, spreading them. "Well well," Quinn murmurs, and her breath washes over Rachel's wet skin. She's _right there_ , and the wait is agonising for Rachel, but she's determined not to ask again.

When Quinn eventually flicks out her tongue and drags it upwards along Rachel's slit, Rachel feels her whole body buckle. Even though this has happened only a handful of times, Rachel can still tell Quinn is moving slower than she normally does. She languidly drags her tongue in upwards strokes, pausing whenever she reaches Rachel's clit to press down on it. Then, she releases it and returns to her starting position, letting her tongue delve into Rachel's for just a moment before drawing it upwards again.

Rachel's brain is short-circuiting, but she can't help thinking _she's doing it again_.

After three minutes of the delightful torture, Rachel's hands are buried in Quinn's hair, her feet are curling against the mattress, and she can't help grinding her hips forwards, trying to gain some more friction. It's a futile endeavour, she learns, because Quinn is taking her sweet time. She's enjoying it, and, no matter how many incoherent begging noises slip from Rachel's mouth, Quinn doesn't seem to be willing to give in until she's good and ready.

Eventually, and to Rachel's verbal relief, Quinn releases one of Rachel's thighs and positions her free hand beneath her own chin, letting one finger rest at Rachel's entrance.

Rachel feels it at once, and it's all she can do not to rock her body forwards, just to try and get a centimetre of traction. She's never wanted it, to be completely and utterly filled, so badly before in her entire life - which, Okay, would be more dramatic if all of this wasn't still new.

But, God, Quinn must sense her need.

She _has_ to, because Rachel's being very vocal about it, and she can feel the satisfaction radiating off of Quinn as she gently teases that finger against her.

Rachel is almost resigned to the torture, but, suddenly, out of nowhere, Quinn locks her lips around Rachel's pounding clit and sucks _hard_. Rachel's whole body reacts immediately, her back arching, her fingers digging into Quinn's scalp with so much ferocity that she's almost sure she rips some out. It's this moment of delightful distraction that Quinn finally slides two fingers inside.

"Oh - oh, God."

The garbled, frantic whimpers from Rachel's lips are probably the most deliciously satisfying noises Quinn has ever heard. She grins against Rachel, letting her tongue swirl around her throbbing clit, over and over again until her jaw starts to ache, her fingers continuing their motion in and out, gradually building up speed. Rachel starts to rock against her, one hand still tangled in Quinn's hair and the other furiously fisted in the sheets. Her body bows upwards, almost pulling her away from Quinn's mouth, but Quinn's firm grip around her thigh keeps her in place, and it doesn't take long before Rachel's quiet whimpers turn into low, drawn-out moans.

"Rachel," Quinn murmurs against her skin, and the vibration of her voice nearly drives Rachel over the edge. "My parents are down the hall."

"I… can't… help… it."

Quinn grins, thoroughly enjoying this. "Try," she instructs. Then she sucks on Rachel's clit again – almost too sharply – and a noise that's almost a howl slips out of Rachel's mouth.

Rachel throws her own arm over her face, biting down to try and smother her own cries, and that familiar weightlessness in all of her limbs starts to take over. Quinn brings her higher than she's ever been before, tormenting her to a state where she thinks she _must_ have come by now, because all of her muscles are locked so tightly that she can't even move. She's digging her teeth so sharply into her own arm that she's pretty sure she's close to drawing blood and, if anyone were to ask her right now what her own fathers' names are, she's not sure she would be able to tell them.

And, just as she's sure she's about to black out, Quinn slips a third finger inside of her and wraps her lips tightly around Rachel's clit. It takes exactly three-point-four seconds. When Quinn sucks, simultaneously swirling her tongue around it, Rachel's body _finally_ breaks, letting her come with such a ferocity that she's certain she must have screamed.

Her ears are ringing, if that's anything to go by.

It takes what feels like hours for her to come back down again. She can still feel Quinn between her legs, holding her in place, her fingers completely still inside her as if she waiting until she's sure she can pull them out again without bringing Rachel to tears. Quinn looks up at the girl lying before her: her chest glistening with sweat and heaving rapidly. Rachel throws her arm out across the bed, and Quinn can see fierce teeth marks in her wrist while she tries to catch her breath.

"Rachel?" Quinn asks, grinning. "Broadway, you okay?"

For her concern, she receives a soft swat to the side of her head. Quinn laughs, finally pulling her fingers out of Rachel and ignoring her whimpered protest at the sudden movement.

As Rachel tries to blink herself back into reality, she feels Quinn crawling over her, retaking her position on top of Rachel's waist. She looks up at her, her own eyes blurry as her stomach twists pleasantly at the sight of Quinn slowly licking her fingers.

God.

"That was incredible,," Rachel forces out breathlessly, never taking her eyes off of Quinn's mouth.

" _You're_ incredible," Quinn replies. She's still smiling, but her words are said in that serious way that makes Rachel's insides melt.

"Come here," Rachel says softly. "Kiss me."

Quinn crawls forwards at once, laying her upper body on top of Rachel's, smiling at the feel of Rachel's pulse pounding against her rib cage as she lowers herself down.

She bends her head to meet Rachel's lips and kisses her, sliding her tongue deep into her mouth.

As Rachel's own moves around it, Quinn feels the pulsing in her clit growing stronger, and she needs _something_. Anything.

She pulls away, pushing Rachel's hair away from her hot face. "I am so love with you."

Rachel's eyes are still on her mouth, and her own lips ask, "How do you want me?"

"Oh, fuck," Quinn groans, her hips shifting automatically.

Rachel smirks. "Yes, baby, I know, but I'm asking _how_?"

Quinn barely hesitates. "Whatever you want."

Rachel moans almost at once, immediately pushing herself off of the bed and rolling Quinn underneath her.

Oh, she has so much planned.

* * *

In the morning, Rachel doesn't think too hard about when the next time she'll get to wake in Quinn's arms is going to be. The atmosphere is almost solemn, worse than the last time she left the Fabray home.

Quinn has cheerleading practice, so she gets dressed beside Rachel, her hands constantly reaching out to touch her in some way. Rachel's just glad she did most of her packing the previous night, because she doesn't think she would have been able to get anything done this morning.

Because, there's zero innocence about Quinn's touches. If Rachel were a lesser girl, she would find some way to stay right here, just for Quinn to continue touching her.

It's going to be an uncomfortable flight.

Quinn woke her two times in the middle of the night. Once in bed, just before they got up. Twice in the shower. Again when she was getting dressed. Before and - thankfully not during, because Rachel really might have died - after breakfast, and twice before she had to leave, her face saying so much.

Their parting hug lasted eight long minutes, and it took Judy telling Quinn she was probably going to be late for practice and have to run laps and laps for her troubles.

"Definitely worth it," Quinn whispers, kissing Rachel one last time, and then reluctantly leaves, her gym bag in tow.

Rachel doesn't cry.

Judy just pats her shoulder, reminds her she has an hour to finish getting ready to go, and then leaves her be.

Rachel goes to Quinn's bedroom, closes the door and just breathes. The room smells like the both of them and, even though she knows she should probably open a window, she doesn't.

Her heart aches for reasons she won't even be able to put into words. Sighing heavily, she goes through the motions of gathering the last of her things.

She zips up her suitcase and leaves it at the door. Next, she tucks items into her carry-on, ensures she has all possessions and then sits on the edge of Quinn's bed. She's perfectly still, unsure how to handle this next part.

She has to leave.

She's leaving Quinn here.

God, she doesn't know how she's supposed to do this.

She can't do this, she doesn't _want_ to do this.

Her breath catches on a sharp gasp and she jumps to her feet. Okay.

Okay.

She moves towards Quinn's desk and grabs one of her pencils and a pack of sticky notes. It's going to be hard for Rachel, she knows, but it's going to be difficult for Quinn, too.

So, Rachel writes notes. Dozens of them, and she sticks them all over the room. She sticks them in Quinn's impressive collection of recipe books, in her novels, between her clothes, in her first aid kit, in her school notebooks, in her lampshade, just everywhere.

It's a sticky note explosion, with Rachel telling Quinn repeatedly how much she loves her and misses her and wants nothing more than to be with her. She wishes her good days and happiness and reminds her to drink lots of water.

She leaves the dirtier notes in more hidden places, mainly because she doesn't want Quinn's parents to see, but she makes sure to leave a few in recipe books and hopes Quinn ends up opening one while in front of the Culinary Club, just to have her turn bright red in an attempt to hide it.

Judy comes to fetch her eventually, and her eyes grow wide at the palette Rachel has left behind. "Oh, she's going to love it," she says, her eyes shining.

"Do you really think so?"

"Of course, Rachel," she says. "Now, I do believe you have a plane to catch."

"Unfortunately," she mutters.

Judy's smile softens. "I wish things were different, but I think you two will be able to handle it," she says. "Quinn will make sure you see each other as often as possible."

Rachel looks at her. "Thank you," she says. "Not just for the amazing holiday or for letting me stay here, but thank you for Quinn and thank you for letting me love her." She blushes. "Thank you for understanding."

"Oh, Rachel," Judy murmurs, pulling her into a hug. "You never have to thank me for that."

Rachel can't help but think about Shelby in this moment, as she wraps her arms around Judy's waist. They're not even a little bit related, and this woman has been more of a mother to her than her actual blood relation. She thinks, one day, she'll talk to Judy about it.

After she divulges more of the story to Quinn, of course.

But, this is the hug she didn't even realise she needed.

As far as Rachel can tell, Judy doesn't actually have to come with her to the airport, but she still does. They take a car, and Judy discusses how difficult it was for them their first year in New York. It was an adjustment, especially with a teenager and a quiet, shy Lucy.

"Goodness, if I'd known that little thing would blossom into this Quinn, I would have made us move years before. My girls have grown so much." She smiles this soft smile that makes Rachel wish for this. "I want the same for you when you finally get here."

"You sound very confident," she points out.

"I am," she says. "Regardless of your relationship with Quinn, you're going to do all you can to get to Broadway, and this is where you're going to do it. This is the place you're both going to realise your dreams."

Okay, so Rachel actually might cry.

"Quinn is... driven," Judy says, her tone almost cautious. "She has plans to be one of the best chefs in the world, Rachel. She's building this brand, making a name for herself. She's preparing for a future of fame."

Rachel waits, patient and focused.

"From this moment on, you are now a part of all of that," she says. "It won't be easy, for either of you. When you get here, you'll both be at different stages in your potential careers, and that might be difficult at first."

Rachel, admittedly, has had the thought before. Quinn is almost a household name in niche households, and Rachel is barely getting started. It helps they're in different fields, but Rachel wants to be able to contribute to this relationship, and it might take a while for her to be able to do it.

"Quinn will give you everything," Judy says. "She might not admit it or give off the impression she would, but she will give you her entire world. All you have to do is ask."

And, Rachel gets it now. What Judy is doing. What the woman is warning her about, even this early in what is still considered a teenage romance.

Judy is asking her not to ask. Because, Quinn will give everything, and then what will she have left?

Rachel would do the same, but Quinn has already assured her she would never have to.

"Judy?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I promise I'll look after her," she vows. "I promise I won't let anything happen to Lucy."

If Judy is surprised by the declaration, she doesn't show it. She just reaches for Rachel's closer hand and gives it a tight squeeze. "You are magnificent, Rachel Berry," she says. "If not before then, I promise we will see you during Winter Break," she promises. "Hiram and I are already making plans."

Rachel has no doubt about that.

She almost forgets that Quinn is always making plans, as well.


	11. Chapter 11

**XI**

It's difficult for Rachel, returning to her everyday life.

Sometimes, it feels as if everything she's experienced with Quinn has been one elaborate dream, but then she'll remember the feel of warm hands on her body or she'll get a mention on social media from Quinn or one of her friends, and she's forced to remember that this is her life now.

She's Quinn Fabray's girlfriend, and she has no idea when she's going to see her again.

Rachel steps off the plane and walks into her fathers' arms, searching for a comfort only Quinn can provide. Her phone has been alight with notifications a plenty, but it all feels like it's someone else's life now that the whirlwind has ended.

Ohio is just very different to New York, and Rachel is still struggling to accept it.

Rachel spends the last few days of summer with Kurt, and sometimes Blaine, when she's not with her parents. She's genuinely surprised by how much she's actually missed him, and them, and he promises good things for their upcoming senior year. But, first, he asks her to recount every second of her trip, and she blushes like a mad person when she gets to the part when they arrive in Sorrento.

It speaks volumes.

"I could tell," Kurt says, smiling so widely that Rachel can barely look at him. He even looks a little smug. "I didn't want to say anything."

Rachel swats at his arm. "Stop it."

"That good, huh?"

Rachel laughs, her blush deepening. "I'm not talking to you about that," she says, and she means it. She's a forward, open person, but sex with Quinn is sacred. "Just know that we're both very satisfied."

"I'll bet."

She shakes her head at his absurdity. "I didn't even - " she starts. "I mean, I had an idea that sex could be _good_ , but I think it's the person who really makes it _great_." She shakes her head at herself. "She just makes me really happy, that's all."

Kurt's smile softens. "I'm glad," he says, and he means it. "You deserve to be happy."

Rachel doesn't try to contradict him, because she's starting to accept that, maybe, she does. Her smile does eventually fade, when she recalls just what's supposed to happen now.

Kurt bumps her with his shoulder. "It's only one year," he says.

Rachel nods her head, resolute.

_One year_.

* * *

It's not an entirely terrible year, all things considered.

It _is_ her senior year of high school, so Rachel is busy enough avoiding Finn, preparing for her auditions, making plans for another go at Glee Nationals, ensuring she doesn't fail any of her classes and telling herself murdering people who annoy her will end with her in jail to miss Quinn as much as her head and heart desperately want to.

The year starts with a literal bang, in the sense that Rachel figures out that more people in her school watch Quinn's videos than she first thought. The first week is an endless turnstile of people asking her if she's really met Quinn and was she really in her kitchen and is Quinn really as nice as she seems in her videos.

Suffice to say, the slushies stop.

Rachel kind of hates them all a lot more because of it, but she keeps those thoughts and feelings to herself. Whatever works, at this point, though she still feels guilty that she's managed to escape it and others haven't.

It makes her understand Quinn that bit more.

Quinn, who she speaks to every single night, without fail.

Quinn, who makes mention of her in her Wednesday videos with the kind of casualness that makes her feel as if she truly is a part of Quinn's life, both personal and professional.

Quinn, who did end up winning the _Chopped_ Teen's Championship, taking home $50 000, which she uses to fund a series of children's cooking workshops in some underprivileged communities in New York City.

Quinn, who pilots every single one, making sure to attend every single session.

Quinn, who ends up on _Good Morning America_ for the second time in just a few months for her cooking classes and her healthy food initiative she's attempting to implement in her own school, and hopefully branch out to others. Rachel records the interview, marvelling at how poised and impassioned Quinn is about what she's trying to accomplish. It's the first time they come close to having phone sex, but Rachel wants to have that conversation in person before they get there.

Quinn, who does the thing and surprises Rachel with a visit the weekend before Halloween.

Rachel is just getting home from Glee rehearsal, exhausted after a long week, and looking forward to a Friday night in. Kurt invited her to a Halloween party that one of the Warblers is throwing, but she declined.

There are countless other parties going on today and tomorrow, which she knows because Finn was persistent about letting her know just where he's going to be spending his time over the weekend.

Rachel had to restrain herself from outright telling him she didn't care.

So, it's Friday and she's exhausted and her bed is beckoning. She has homework a plenty, a song to perform and record, dinner to cook, probably, because her fathers mentioned something about a reunion dinner they were attending in Columbus. Rachel's not sure she was paying much attention, anyway.

Which is why she's surprised by sounds coming from the kitchen when she steps into the house. Her first instinct is, well, that her fathers ended up changing their plans.

Then she thinks it's a burglar, maybe.

What or who it ends up being is some other kind of surprise, though. For a moment, Rachel is certain she's dreaming, but then the human being in her kitchen starts humming, and Rachel lets out an embarrassing squeak.

Quinn spins around so quickly, she drops the wooden spoon in her hand. "Oh, my God," she says, pressing a hand over her heart. "You scared me."

"What are you doing here?" Rachel manages to get out before she decides she doesn't care and crosses the room in quick strides to throw herself at Quinn. She wraps her arms and legs around Quinn's shoulders and waist, hugging her so tightly that she lets out a pained sound.

Warm arms wrap around Rachel's middle to support her, and then Rachel is kissing her for all her worth. It's just such a relief, really, to be able to touch Quinn and feel her and taste her and hear her.

Quinn breaks the kiss first. "My pots," she says, reaching blindly to turn off the burners with one hand, and then immediately resumes their kissing. It's almost as if they've been starved, and Rachel isn't letting go any time soon.

She does, however, need to breathe, so she detaches her mouth from Quinn's in an attempt to get some air. "When did you get here?" she asks, tightening her hold on Quinn.

"About an hour ago," she says. "Surprise."

"Why?"

"I missed you."

Rachel kisses her, hard and fast, and Quinn has to set her on the kitchen counter before they both go tumbling to the floor; Quinn is so dazed.

Rachel keeps her close, her ankles locked behind Quinn's thighs. "Do my fathers know you're here?" Rachel asks between kisses.

"Who do you think let me in?" Quinn asks, sarcastic as always. "I didn't just show up unannounced."

"Did they totally geek out?"

Quinn laughs, her head tilting back, and Rachel uses the opportunity to pepper kisses along her gorgeous neck. "I met only LeRoy," she says. "I expect meeting Hiram is going to be quite the experience."

"It would be better that I'm around for that," Rachel murmurs, her teeth scraping along Quinn's pulse point, making the blonde shudder.

"Oh, fuck," Quinn groans, her right hand trailing up Rachel's exposed thigh while the other threads through her brunette locks. "God, yes," she hisses, moving to kiss Rachel's mouth again.

"My parents are out, right?" Rachel asks, breathless. "We have time, right?"

Quinn just kisses her harder, her hands grabbing for clothes and skin and Rachel gets the feeling they're five seconds away from doing it right here.

Not that Rachel would be necessarily opposed. It's just that they have the entire house to themselves, and she has a perfectly working bed upstairs.

Rachel pushes on Quinn's shoulders. "Did you go exploring?"

Dazed, Quinn asks, "What?"

"Do you know where my bedroom is?"

It takes Quinn another moment to catch up, and then she immediately lifts Rachel up, making her squeal. Rachel holds on tightly as Quinn starts to walk, her display of strength such a turn-on to an already worryingly aroused Rachel Berry.

Quinn has to pause on the stairs, pressing Rachel against the wall and kissing her over and over again, her hands refusing to stay still as she searches for skin under Rachel's sweater.

It takes minutes, and Rachel's hands are desperately tugging at Quinn's jeans when Quinn finally gets them moving again, her muscles flexing and her chest vibrating with a groan.

Rachel can't resist, really, and she makes the mistake of grinding against Quinn's abs, which makes Quinn trip on the last step, and they both go tumbling to the floor. Quinn lands on top of her, winding her completely. Quinn groans in pain, her knees probably already sporting bruises, but then she laughs.

Rachel tries to catch her breath, tempted to ask Quinn to lift herself off.

Quinn does it herself, just for a moment, her biceps bulging as she supports her upper body. "Rachel," she murmurs, and Rachel's hands immediately reach for her again, desperate for her in every way. "I don't think we're making it to the bedroom," she adds, which is compounded by the fact Rachel is already unbuckling her belt.

Rachel has just enough coherent thought to know this is not what she was expecting when she arrived home this particular Friday. Her exhaustion has disappeared completely. Was she even tired? She can't remember.

It's a fumbled mess, really, like they're so out of practice after being apart for so long. They're also impatient. Rachel would be embarrassed if Quinn wasn't practically clawing at her underwear, as if they're in competition.

They are, maybe, and Rachel is so relieved she gets there first, basically shoving her hand into Quinn's panties, because all coherent thought escapes her the second Quinn's fingers sink into her.

Quinn shifts her hips, and Rachel closes her eyes, trying to focus on giving pleasure while receiving it. Her heart is beating way too fast, but she moves her fingers against Quinn's precious bundle of nerves, just knowing neither of them is going to last long.

Quinn kisses her again, and it's rushed and sloppy and it's just so good in a way that's different to all the other times. They're literally having sex on the landing of her childhood home, desperately touching each other with their clothes still on, and, yeah, okay, it's over before Rachel can even stop thinking about how out of control this entire situation is.

It's almost a relief when Rachel finally comes, followed by Quinn just moments after, both of them twitching and breathless. She would be embarrassed if Quinn wasn't still on top of her.

"I missed you," Rachel finds herself whispering, her voice hoarse as her fingers thread through growing blonde hair. "I missed you so much."

"Did you miss _me_ , or did you just miss the orgasms?" Quinn murmurs, kissing her softly.

Rachel lets out a soft laugh. "I didn't need you here to have orgasms, you know?"

Quinn kisses her again, and then rolls off, moving to lie beside her. Their clothes are rumpled, hair disheveled, and there's moisture on their fingers.

"We didn't even make it to your bedroom," Quinn says, breathing out. "I don't know if I should be embarrassed or not." She rolls onto her side to look at Rachel, propping herself up on her elbow. "I didn't think I would be this horny, sex-crazed teenager."

Rachel side-eyes her. "You say that as if it's my fault."

"It is," Quinn says, grinning with mischief. "You're just so..."

"Irresistible," Rachel offers.

Quinn kisses her cheek. "Sure, Broadway," she says. "We'll go with that."

Rachel gasps, dramatic as ever, and she immediately rolls onto Quinn, straddling her hips and pinning her wrists to the carpet. "I'm irresistible," she says, adamant.

"I didn't say you weren't," Quinn says, looking as if she's enjoying herself far too much.

"But you're not saying I am," Rachel says, just on the border of whining.

Quinn's eyes light up. "Take me to your bedroom and I'll tell you whatever you want to hear."

Rachel groans, despite herself, leaning forward and kissing Quinn. It's long and deep, and she uses her tongue to explore every crevice of Quinn's pliant mouth, humming at the familiar taste and wishing there was a way to get more.

Quinn breaks away, desperate for breath. Her eyes are wide and wild with desire, and her voice is strangled when she forces out the word, "Bedroom."

Rachel doesn't have to be told twice.

Or three times.

Who cares?

* * *

Rachel doesn't mean to pass out, but there's really no other way for the evening to go. She's supposedly irresistible and all that, and Quinn takes it upon herself to prove it to her.

So, she passes out, and, when she next wakes, Quinn is sitting cross-legged on the bed beside her, casually scrolling through her phone while nibbling on a slice of apple and wearing only one of Rachel's band camp t-shirts.

Rachel stares at her profile for a while, not giving away her wakefulness just yet. She's missed this: just being able to look at her and see her and know she's within touching distance.

Her stomach gives her away, growling without her consent, and hazel eyes turn towards her. Quinn smiles immediately, leaning forward to press a kiss to the side of her head.

"Sleep well?" Quinn asks, sounding amused.

"Don't look so smug."

"But, I am," Quinn counters. "I'm so smug, I don't even know what to do with myself." She grins. "Sweets, you literally passed out. It was basically mid-orgasm." She laughs softly. "After I freaked out about possibly killing you, all I can be _is_ smug."

Rachel rolls onto her back, exposing her upper body to Quinn's roving gaze. She stretches her limbs, trying to remove the stiffness in her muscles. "What time is it?" she asks.

"Almost midnight."

Rachel jerks upwards immediately, gasping as she straightens. "What?"

Quinn just gives her a look. "You've been out for a while," she clarifies. "Which just adds to my totally justified smugness, by the way."

Rachel scrambles for her phone, which is perched on her nightstand. She's just making sure Quinn isn't messing with her, really, and her eyes widen at the sight of the time. "Oh, my God," she murmurs. "Are my parents home?"

"No," Quinn says. "I think I should confess that they probably aren't going to be coming home tonight."

Rachel blinks. "They're not?"

Quinn takes a bite of her apple. "They're not," she confirms, and there's so much more there, but Rachel isn't going to bother questioning it now. She's alone, in her own house, with her gorgeous girlfriend, and they have all night.

Her stomach growls again.

Quinn's smile softens, before she climbs off the bed and stands, stretching. "Come on," she says. "Let's get you some calories we're just going to be burning later."

* * *

In the morning, Rachel takes Quinn on a tour of Lima. They leave before her fathers even get home, but the texts they exchange promise a proper, formal introductory dinner at seven o'clock.

After that, Quinn says they're going to a Halloween party that Kurt invited them to. Another Warbler, apparently, and Quinn is willing to go out into the Ohio world with her, even if they're under the cover of Halloween costumes and in relatively enemy territory.

But, first, Lima.

Rachel avoids places densely populated by William McKinley High School students such as the Lima Bean and the best place to get ice-cream, The Creamery. She almost wants to take Quinn to Six Flags, just because, but she doesn't. They don't really have a lot of time.

They drive past the high school at some point, and Rachel can't help her own reaction to the sight of it. These days, the only bright spot is Kurt, really, and sometimes Glee. Finn has managed to taint her safe space with his passive aggressive pursuit of her, and Santana and Mercedes are just... aggressive.

While the slushies have stopped, the sheer idea that Rachel knows Quinn has seemed to rub people the wrong way. Mainly Mercedes, who also seems to hold a certain grudge against her, because of how close she and Kurt are now. Really, Rachel just can't win, either way.

Quinn rests a hand on her leg, saying nothing, and Rachel loves her so much more for it. It's amazing, really, how Quinn can just read her. _Know_ her. If Rachel counts all the time they've actually spent in each other's presence, it's just shy of one full month. And, yet, it feels as if there's this inexplicable familiarity between them that should be borne of years together.

"High school is shit, anyway," Quinn murmurs once the collection of buildings is out of sight.

Rachel just hums. "Is it really petty of me that I enjoy it far too much knowing that my girlfriend beat all the cheerleaders who always make it their mission to make my life hell at their precious Nationals?"

Quinn blinks hard, as if she's trying to work out what Rachel's just said. Then she grins. "No, Sweets," she says. "It's not petty, at all. You have to take the little victories wherever you can get them."

"It makes me feel small to get such satisfaction from it, though," Rachel admits.

"I think the fact that you're even conscious of something like that makes you better than every other person I've encountered in my entire life," Quinn says. "You are so beautiful, Rachel Berry, inside and out, in every way. I can't imagine what any of us earthly beings have done to deserve you and your light."

Rachel blushes so brightly, she can barely look at Quinn. Jesus.

Quinn just squeezes her leg, and then removes her hand. "So, where are we going?"

Rachel clears her throat, buying herself some time. "Well, I wanted to show you where I get my music," she says. "Maybe you'd like to pick something out for today's video."

Quinn smiles beautifully. "It can happen that fast?"

Rachel's brow furrows slightly. "If I can find the instrumental music, sure," she says. "Sometimes, I change the arrangement depending on the song, but we'll see what we can find."

Quinn licks her lips. "Maybe I can play piano for you," she offers. "In the background, somewhere not in the frame. If you want. I'm kind of okay at musical alterations."

Rachel glances at her. "I think you downplay your musical abilities too much," she points out.

Quinn doesn't attempt to argue the fact, which says more than Rachel expects. "The offer stands, either way," she says. "I mean, I kind of miss playing the way I used to."

"Have you stopped completely?" she asks, frowning at the thought that this is something she doesn't know, when she knows nearly everything about Quinn's endless schedule.

"Not really," Quinn confesses, her eyes taking in the various buildings as they drive through this town Rachel calls home. "I have a standing piano lesson with my teacher, Dr Baron, every two weeks, just because she enjoys making me feel like shit for not practicing as much as I should."

"Quinn."

"It's just a thing," she says, shrugging. "I know I don't play as much as I should, and I think I would be devastated if I lost my ability to play at the level I'm currently at. I don't really want to keep going, but I also don't want to regress, you know?"

Rachel thinks she gets it. "It's not your passion," she states.

Quinn nods slowly. "It's _a_ passion, but, yeah, no, it's not my passion."

"Food is," Rachel says.

"It's second on my list, I've learned," Quinn says.

"Oh?"

Quinn gives her this soft, genuine look. "My first passion is Rachel Berry," she says, almost unnecessarily, and Rachel is sure she falls in love all over again.

* * *

The song Quinn ends up choosing is _I Wanna Grow Old With You_ by Westlife, which they spend the afternoon rearranging and slowing down to be only Rachel's gorgeous voice accompanied with Quinn on the piano.

The entire time, Rachel is acutely aware of the way Quinn watches her, her adoration and affection and wonder completely evident in her gaze. She can't help wondering, herself, if this is the way she acts when she watches Quinn cook.

If so, wow, okay.

When they've rehearsed it fully twice, Rachel declares them ready for recording, and she sets up the camera in the basement, which is where the piano is. For the first time ever, there's going to be live piano playing, and Rachel is allowed to be excited by that, beyond the fact the person playing is her girlfriend, Quinn Fabray.

Rachel positions the camera, just so Quinn's hands are in the shot, showing her fingers on the keys as proof of the actual playing. She's sure, after she posts the video, she's going to be asked all sorts of questions about the piano player's identity, and she's almost looking forward to playing coy.

Quinn makes sure to remove her various bracelets before they begin, mainly because she has some of her own very observant fans. They miss nothing and, with the influx of online fans Rachel has received because she knows Quinn, it's likely someone will notice, and how does one explain a random out-of-state visit to someone who is just supposed to be 'one of my best friends?'

Rachel knows she still has a long way to go, in terms of gaining internet popularity - Quinn assures her already having 345 923 subscribers is still a huge deal - but this is something she actually enjoys. Sometimes, she doesn't even think she's doing it for the popularity.

"Ready?" Rachel asks once everything is set up.

Quinn settles in position, her back ramrod straight and her wrists lofted. Rachel has to take a moment to capture the image, just because seeing Quinn's focus is sometimes distracting. She needs to get it out of her system now.

Which is why, before she starts the recording, she moves to straddle Quinn and kiss her senseless. Music, itself, is already a turn-on. But, goodness, Quinn _and_ music… she can't be responsible for her actions.

They're both a little dazed by the time the brief make-out session ends, and it takes Rachel a while to get steady on her legs, and Quinn keeps a hand on her hip until she's able to stand still.

"You okay?" Quinn asks.

Rachel just nods, kisses the top of her head, and then moves away. She needs another moment, to recover from her previous moment.

It takes a few minutes, and Rachel has to touch up her makeup and fluff her hair where Quinn's fingers did damage before she's ready to sing.

It's easy, then, because she can almost feel Quinn in the air around her. This song was chosen for a reason, she thinks. Quinn loves Westlife, she knows, but the lyrics hit really close to home, and Rachel can't help the emotion that bubbles to the surface as she sings the words.

_Another day without your smile_  
_Another day just passes by_  
_But now I know how much it means_  
_For you to stay right here with me_  
_The time we spent apart will make our love grow stronger  
_ _But it hurts so bad I can't take it any longer_

_I want to grow old with you_  
_I want to die lying in your arms_  
_I want to grow old with you_  
_I want to be looking in your eyes_  
_I want to be there for you, sharing everything you do  
_ _I want to grow old with you_

_A thousand miles between us now_  
_It causes me to wonder how_  
_Our love tonight remains so strong_  
_It makes our risk right all along_  
_The time we spent apart will make our love grow stronger  
_ _But it hurts so bad I can't take it any longer_

_I want to grow old with you_  
_I want to die lying in your arms_  
_I want to grow old with you_  
_I want to be looking in your eyes_  
_I want to be there for you, sharing everything you do  
_ _I want to grow old with you_

_Things can come and go_  
_I know but_  
_Baby I believe_  
_Something's burning strong between us  
_ _Makes it clear to me_

_I want to grow old with you_  
_I want to die lying in your arms_  
_I want to grow old with you_  
_I want to be looking in your eyes_  
_I want to be there for you, sharing everything you do  
_ _I want to grow old with you_

The song, however sad and emotional, is really such a Quinn choice, that Rachel includes the fact that she actually did pick it in her short post-song snippet. She smiles a little too much, and she's aware she's blushing, but there's a part of her that doesn't really care.

She's been in love with Quinn for so long, and Quinn doesn't really learn just how long until she's fiddling with Rachel's laptop while she's editing it.

"What's this?" Quinn asks, and Rachel looks up from her homework that Quinn guilted her into doing.

"What's what?"

"There's a video here," Quinn says, already clicking on it. "It's to me."

It takes Rachel far too long to figure out what Quinn is talking about, and, by the time she catches up, Rachel's tearful confession of love that she cut out of the recorded song she sent to Quinn for her birthday is already filling the room. Rachel panics for all of two full seconds, caught between wanting to scramble across the room towards Quinn to stop it, and just letting it happen.

It happens.

Rachel just sits there while Quinn watches her confess to being so happy and in love before they were even not-talking about dating, and Rachel doesn't know what to make of the silence that follows.

Then, Quinn plays the video again.

And a third time.

Rachel's heart jumps into her throat when Quinn gets to her feet and moves to kneel in front of where she's sitting at her desk. "What are you - "

"I love you," Quinn says, interrupting as she rests her hands on Rachel's thighs. "I want to say that I wish you'd told me sooner, but I've always believed that everything happens in its own time."

Rachel just stares at her, stunned silent.

"That time in our lives was tricky, wasn't it?" Quinn continues. "I don't want you to think you were the only one feeling things, because you weren't. You never have been." She audibly swallows, and then blushes. "My mom teases me about it now, but I've, apparently, been talking about you in some way or form since you first tweeted at me in November."

Rachel shifts forward slightly, curiosity getting the better of her. "Why _did_ you tweet me back?" she asks, because she's never really believed Quinn's previous answers.

"I told you," Quinn says, blushing. "I mean, it really _was_ because of the _Harry Potter_ dish towel, but I, uh, I actually DM'd you because I might have stalked your profile a little bit after that."

Rachel giggles. "My profile had nothing on it," she says.

"And, as a result, I was very curious," Quinn admits, smiling. "I have no regrets, Rachel. You are literally the best thing ever to happen to me, and I wouldn't change a single thing that's happened to get us to this point in our lives, the good and the bad."

"There hasn't been much bad, has there?"

"Don't jinx it," Quinn rushes out, wincing.

Unable to stop herself, Rachel tugs on Quinn's shirt, lifting her up high enough to kiss her properly. "No regrets, huh?"

"Everything in its own time, remember?" Quinn murmurs against Rachel's lips. "Everything."

* * *

Rachel, admittedly, has spent many, many days wondering and imagining what it would be like to have Quinn here, in her home, with her parents, just _being_.

It's so much better than she could have dreamed.

Quinn cooks, of course, because how could she not? In her mind, she's just invited herself into the Berry home, and she has to pay her dues, and she does that by cooking. She prepares two meals: one vegan and one not, to cater to all their palettes. Rachel loves her just that bit more for it.

As expected - and, much to Rachel's amusement - Quinn charms Hiram and LeRoy to a point that Rachel thinks it's almost indecent how much they're enamoured with her. Rachel thinks Quinn could ask them for their blessing right now and they would give it, no questions asked.

What's even more terrifying is that Rachel would probably say yes.

She should probably talk to Quinn about that.

Hiram asks most of the questions, looking genuinely interested in whatever Quinn has to say, and LeRoy is content to sit back, watch and listen for most of it. Quinn's interests are varied, and she's capable of waxing poetic about a handful of things, so, when Hiram alludes to Quinn's work with some of the inner-city youth, they have material to talk about for hours.

Well, it would be hours if Kurt doesn't text them, reminding them that he and Blaine are planning on heading to the party at ten o'clock, so they'd better be ready when they show up.

Now, Rachel had no intention of going anywhere, so she doesn't actually have a costume to wear, which is a fear Quinn alleviates the second they make it back to Rachel's bedroom to get ready.

"You bought me a costume?" Rachel asks, her voice a little breathy.

Quinn rummages in her suitcase. "Well, yes," she says, sounding slightly distracted. "And, well, I brought two for myself."

"Two?"

Quinn stops what she's doing and lifts her gaze to meet Rachel's. "This is kind of a big deal for us, isn't it?" she starts, casually moving towards where Rachel is standing, leaning against the doorframe to her closet. "Our first party in Lima." She tucks a lock of hair behind Rachel's ear. "I want to be able to spend it with you, and I figure the best way to do that is to make sure we're both completely comfortable."

Rachel waits, unsure where this is going.

Quinn clears her throat. "So, I have two costumes," she says. "One is undeniably feminine, and the other is distinctly masculine."

"Oh."

Quinn hums. "I know, where we're going, people won't really know you, but I don't want this to be a thing you're going to be worrying about, okay? I don't mind either costume. Nobody will ever know it's me, regardless. So, it's up to you, okay?"

Rachel takes a deep, calming breath that really doesn't seem to work.

Quinn cups her cheek, her thumb smooth on the skin of her cheek. "Broadway, I promise it's okay," she says. "You're the one who's going to have to live here if - if someone reads our relationship wrong." She pauses. "Or, _right_ , I guess."

Rachel sighs. "You don't mind?"

Quinn doesn't even hesitate. "I don't mind," she assures. "This is our first foray into the Ohio nightlife - " she snorts " - and I want to be able to spend it being as comfortable with you as possible."

Rachel leans into her touch, her fingers closing around the fabric of Quinn's shirt. "I think I'll be anxious all night, either way," she admits.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "I can pull it off, you know?" she says, almost too proud. "And, I'm pretty sure half the people are going to be too drunk to look too closely, anyway."

The idea still makes her nervous, but she eventually agrees, and the two of them end up going to Warbler Martin Greenfield's house as Antonio Bandares and Catherine Zeta-Jones from the film _The Legend of Zorro_. There's the potential of disaster, but she's just going to accept it for what it is.

And, really, what it is turns out to be one of the greatest nights of her life.

Quinn is introduced as 'Q' to everyone they come across, her voice just husky and raspy enough for people not to look twice. Even if they did, though, it's Halloween, so it's okay.

At least that's what Rachel tells herself, repeatedly, after Quinn has said it almost four times. Once before they leave, again in the car, a third time just before they enter the house and a fourth and final time when she hands Rachel a drink she mixed and softly kisses her cheek.

"I love you," Quinn murmurs, and then the night really begins.

Rachel probably won't remember much of anything, but it's honestly the most free she's been in her entire life living in Ohio. She talks and laughs and dances with abandon, her body relaxed and her heart light. She has Quinn and she has Kurt and Blaine by extension - who, Kurt assures her won't breathe a word about her or Quinn to a soul - and every single worry she's ever had just falls away for a few precious hours.

Quinn touches her every second she can, her hand on a hip or their arms pressed together, fingers entwined.

_Bodies_ pressed together, hearts beating in sync as the music pounds all around them.

Quinn tastes like rum, salty and sweet, and the two of them make out in the centre of the makeshift dance floor, surrounded by warm, squirming bodies, and Rachel can't get enough of this and her and everything. She's probably spoiling herself, because she's going to have to go back to life when Quinn is gone, once more.

Still, she's going to enjoy this as much as she can.

"You have a sword," Rachel suddenly says, pulling back slightly and attempting to look into Quinn's eyes.

"Do I?" Quinn murmurs, looking amused.

"Unless you're just happy to see me."

Quinn chuckles softly, resting her forehead against Rachel's. "Who fucking needs gender when you're as fuck-hot as you are?"

Rachel kisses the corner of her mouth. "You're already getting lucky tonight, you know," she says. "There's no need for any of that."

"Oh?"

"But, it sure doesn't hurt," Rachel concedes.

"It's like extended foreplay."

"I'm definitely not complaining."

They kiss again, slow and purposeful, and every fear Rachel had has magically disappeared. Maybe she's drunk enough not to care in the moment, but she's sure she'll overanalyse everything in the morning.

Right now, though, she's kissing her girlfriend in a room full of people, and she isn't even worried about being caught out. She thinks, if Quinn were to ask, she might even be up to sneaking away upstairs to one of the bedrooms and possibly doing more than just kissing.

Wow.

Okay.

Which is almost what ends up happening.

Well, it would, if they could find an empty bedroom. The promise of Rachel ends up being too much for Quinn to resist, and the blonde drags her into the bathroom upstairs with the very intention of having her wicked way with her.

Which would maybe be okay with Rachel if she wasn't aware of numerous people waiting behind them to use said bathroom.

Quinn has no such qualms, and Rachel bristles for only a moment, until she realises her hands have already found Quinn's waist, and are using her belt to tug her towards her.

Quinn glances down, and smirks at the way their bodies fit so perfectly together.

"I like," Quinn murmurs, before she presses her lips against Rachel's, softly easing open the brunette's mouth and curling her tongue through it as if she were tasting ice cream.

Outside the door, they can hear voices, some of them loud and others impatient. Rachel screws her eyes shut and does her best to ignore every single one of them.

She can feel Quinn's hands leaving her neck and slipping down her body. Stopping at her chest momentarily to graze two thumbs over aching nipples. Quinn's fingers begin to tiptoe across the muscles of her stomach until they reach the fabric of her long skirt, immediately tugging on it until it's bunched up around her waist.

With every inch those hands move downwards, Rachel can feel her chest beginning to swell with the effort of sucking in breath after breath. The feeling of Quinn's nails skittering across her skin is light and almost ticklish; like cool breezes and nervous butterflies and waiting in line for a rollercoaster.

Rachel's lungs keep swelling, and suddenly she's not sure they can take the strain of waiting for those fingers to find what they're looking for.

But, then, those dancing fingers finally reach the waistband of her panties, and the rollercoaster takes off: a hundred miles an hour, rocketing her up into the sky and backwards into the wall.

It's everything.

Rachel suddenly grips the back of Quinn's neck and pulls her forward into a bruising kiss, gasping when a warm hand slips down the front of her underwear. Her moan of relief is barely muffled by Quinn's mouth, and she has only a moment to appreciate it.

Quinn smiles to herself, slowly dragging the side of her index finger along the wet slit between Rachel's legs and marvelling at the way Rachel is practically trembling against her chest.

"God, you're gorgeous," Quinn murmurs, reaching up with her free hand and gripping hold of Rachel's jaw, kissing her all the more fiercely and waiting until she hears that now-familiar moan that Rachel never admits to vocalising.

It's like permission.

Or a plead.

For more.

For something.

And, the second Quinn hears it, she slips a single finger deep into Rachel and enjoys the way the brunette's hold on her tightens.

The groan that comes from Rachel's lips vibrates through the both of them, and she suddenly throws both of her arms around Quinn's neck, hauling her forwards and tangling the pair of them together. Quinn releases Rachel's throat from her grip and presses her hand against the wall instead, holding them both up as she begins to drive that finger in and out of her slick centre.

One finger becomes two, and Rachel's quiet sighs become prolonged moans.

Quinn twists her hand slightly within the confines of Rachel's panties and allows the palm of her knuckle to roll against Rachel's clit, grinding against it with every few strokes and driving Rachel's already heaving chest towards the threat of explosion.

Burying her face in Quinn's neck, Rachel bites down on her shoulder and tries desperately to suppress a whimper. She fails. It rather reverberates through Quinn's skin, raising tiny bumps along her aching arms, but somehow only causing her to work her fingers harder and faster and harsher.

As soon as Rachel's moans become too erratic, Quinn eases off in the worst possible way. The moment she feels Rachel's breathing begin to slow, even just slightly, she leans the whole weight of her body against the palm of her hand and shocks the nerves in Rachel's clit so severely that her whole body arches as if it's been electrocuted.

Every time Rachel moans into her ear, pleading with her to make her come - to please, please, _please_ put her out of her misery and give her what she wants – Quinn stops moving altogether. Instead, she kisses Rachel's lips tenderly to stop her from screaming and then pulls back, smirking slightly to see the tears of frustration that prickle at dark, unfocused eyes.

"Quinn," Rachel croaks out, feeling Quinn's knuckle graze momentarily against her clit as she withdraws from her panties entirely, trying her hardest not to scream out loud. "Will you please… _please_ … just - "

"Hello!"

A voice suddenly erupts from the other side of the door, and Rachel groans to herself, her head thudding backwards against the wall. Quinn leans forwards, laughing, and drags her tongue up the pulsing skin of Rachel's delicious throat.

When the voice doesn't receive a reply, the owner on the other side of the door tentatively tries the handle, only to find it locked, and both girls hear the person's tersely impatient sigh.

"Hello?" the voice goes again - clearly a girl. "Some of us would like to get in there before the world ends, thank you."

Swallowing down tears that are verging on hysterical, Rachel takes a deep breath to keep herself calm.

"Just a minute," she calls out. "I'll be right out."

Partially impressed and partially bitterly disappointed by how Rachel's voice didn't so much as tremble, Quinn abruptly presses the palm of her hand against Rachel's throbbing centre.

And, before she can even think to stop herself, Rachel cries out; her hands reaching up to grab hold of Quinn's waistcoat and tugging her towards her.

"Oh, _God_ ," Rachel splutters, a tear leaking out from beneath her closed eyelids.

Quinn bites down on her lip, forcing back a moan of her own, and pushes two fingers easily back inside of her.

Rachel's body begins to arch against the wall, her hips rolling in steadfast synchronisation with the driving motion of Quinn's fingers, her groans only growing louder. Quinn leans forwards against her forehead, watching with fascination as Rachel's face begins to flush and tremble and succumb to a streak of agonised tears.

Quinn realises, in this moment, that she can't possibly deny Rachel what she so desperately wants.

Pressing her left hand over Rachel's parted lips in a delusional attempt at silencing her, Quinn finally pushes a third finger between her legs and grinds the pad of her thumb against her throbbing clit, and Rachel immediately cries out against her skin.

Leaning forwards and exhaling against the shell of her ear, Quinn whispers, "Be _quiet_ , Elena Montero. We don't want them getting jealous, now do we?"

Rachel can't reply. The sound of Quinn's voice, low with captivation and undeniable arousal, sends shivers running through every nerve in her body, and suddenly her whole frame is twitching.

Quinn presses her hand more firmly against her mouth, trying to smother the frantic moans that are now erupting from deep within it. But, when that fails, she tears her hand away and replaces it with her lips.

As an arching, shattering orgasm finally starts to surge throughout Rachel's body, Quinn can feel her name being sighed into her mouth without Rachel ever saying it. Her fingers clutch desperately onto the back of Quinn's neck, clinging onto her and silently begging her to stop her from falling.

Quinn holds onto her as tightly as she can, her right hand still driving between her legs, bringing Rachel so high up on her peak that when she reaches the top, she could explode.

The room around her fades to nothing for a moment as that rollercoaster catapults her into the stars, sucking the air itself from her body, with only the weight of Quinn's frame pressed up against her, reminding her she needs to come back to earth at some point.

At long last, when Rachel's body finally stops shaking and she collapses back against the wall, Quinn carefully withdraws her fingers from between her legs. It's the one moment she allows herself one gratuitous study of Rachel's face: her cheeks flushed, her lips burned red with her own smeared lipstick, and her exposed chest still heaving as she struggles to catch her breath. She looks exhausted, but she's never looked more beautiful.

When Rachel finally opens her eyes, it's to find Quinn watching her, languidly licking her fingers. Even as she glowers, Quinn doesn't bother to suppress the smug smile that's still playing on her lips.

"You okay there, beautiful?" Quinn asks.

"I hate you," Rachel mutters, not meaning it in the slightest.

Quinn kisses her quickly. "We should probably get out of here before they break down that door." She steps back to allow Rachel to straighten herself out and pat down her hair. She spends a moment in front of the mirror, wiping her face of tears and fixing her makeup.

When Rachel's ready, she says, "I'm going to get you back for that later."

Quinn grins. "I'm looking forward to it."

And, the thing is, Quinn _is_ , and so Rachel _does_ , and Quinn enjoys every glorious second of it.

* * *

"Quinn, baby, we have to get up," Rachel murmurs, her hand sliding over Quinn's bare back. "You're going to miss your flight if we don't leave soon."

Quinn doesn't move.

Rachel moves closer, almost rolling onto her. She shifts the sheet out of the way, to press her skin against Quinn's. "Baby," she breathes right into Quinn's ear. "If you don't wake up now, we're not going to have any time to shower together."

Quinn groans softly, and Rachel smiles at how predictable her insatiable girlfriend can be.

Rachel presses a kiss to her shoulder.

Quinn puffs out a breath. "I don't wanna go," she mumbles sleepily. Still, she does roll over onto her back, absently pulling Rachel with her until the brunette's body is properly draped over her. "Can't we just stay here forever?"

It's tempting, but Rachel still says, "What would your subscribers say?"

"I think they'll be okay," Quinn murmurs, her eyes still closed.

"That's a lot of people you'll be disappointing," she says, nuzzling Quinn's chest. "What are you up to now? Four million?"

Quinn puffs out a breath. "Not quite," she says. "Though, Noah and I have been discussing what we're going to do when I do."

"That's a little presumptuous of you, don't you think?"

Quinn smiles a little indulgently. "Or, just realistic," she says.

Rachel kisses her chin, suddenly tempted to nibble at her skin. "We have to get up," she murmurs, and then trails her lips along Quinn's jaw, licking to taste.

"What's the time, anyway?" Quinn asks, sounding breathless.

Rachel doesn't mention that she set her alarm for a half-hour earlier, just to give them this time to laze about in bed. It's her dream, really. This is the future she wants.

Quinn suddenly groans.

"What?" Rachel asks, lifting her head.

"I have school tomorrow," Quinn complains, resting her forearm over her eyes. "Why is that even a thing?"

Rachel sighs softly. "I've been meaning to talk to you about that, actually," she says, licking her lips. "We should talk about it, right?"

Quinn moves her arm away and blinks her eyes open. "Talk about school?" she asks, looking adorably confused.

"College, Quinn," Rachel clarifies.

"Oh."

Rachel shifts a little, lifting herself up to look at Quinn properly. "I'm coming to New York," she says. "I have auditions a plenty next year, and, regardless of how they go, I'm making it to New York." She swallows. "Are you going to be there?"

Here, Quinn looks away. "I think so," she says.

"You think so?"

"I intend to go abroad at some point," Quinn says. "To Europe. I would like to be trained by chefs there, but that will probably happen after I finish school in New York."

Rachel isn't sure exactly what she's telling her.

"Yes," Quinn says. "I'm going to be there."

Rachel wouldn't even know how to explain the sudden flood of relief she feels. She didn't even know it was something she was worrying about until the words leave Quinn's mouth.

"I want to be with you," Quinn continues, as if she can sense these are words Rachel needs to hear her say. "Physically, with you. Be able to see you without having to fly across the country. Be able to come to you and touch you and see you and hold you and kiss you and make love to you. These are all things I want, Rachel." She breathes out slowly. "But, you need to know that I also want to further my career."

"I know," Rachel says, and she does. Quinn wants to further her career, and Rachel just wants to _start_ hers. She knows they're going to be in different places when she finally gets to New York, and she knows she's going to have to pay close attention to Judy's advice.

Quinn is Quinn, and her ambition is one of the things Rachel loves most about her. That, and her confidence, are two of the things that make her the most attractive really, and Rachel has the sudden need to be inside her again.

No, she wants to taste her.

Both.

Everything.

Just, she's suddenly glad she made sure to set her alarm for an earlier time.

* * *

It's a little over a week later that things change. Sort of. Not really.

It's just, well, on Wednesday night, Quinn does something. Rachel doesn't catch it until Kurt practically shoves his phone in her face on Thursday morning and says, "Oh, my God. She basically just came out, but not really."

Rachel takes a moment to process, and then her eyes widen as the words register in her brain. "What?"

Kurt looks borderline scandalised. "Didn't you know?"

"My parents dragged me to a faculty dinner last night," she says, huffing in annoyance. "I haven't had a chance to watch the video, and she hasn't mentioned anything. What did she say?"

He hands the phone to her. "You're going to want to watch this," he says, and then heads towards his own locker. Quinn is usually doing surprising things, and Rachel sometimes has to bear the brunt of her classmates' questions about it.

And, well, this is the first time she notices the increased number of eyes on her. Today of all days.

Oh, Quinn Fabray, what have you done?

Rachel definitely doesn't watch the video in the middle of the crowded corridor, and she rather drags Kurt to the Choir Room before the first bell so they can watch it together.

"I don't think you'll have time to watch the entire thing before first lessons, so just skip to minute twelve."

Rachel does as instructed, and feels a smile tug at her lips at the first sight of her girlfriend. Wow, she misses her something fierce. She also can't help noticing how exhausted Quinn looks, and she makes a mental note to check in with Judy about how Quinn is actually doing.

Or, well, she can have Quinn just tell her, when she says, "And, now that we've got all the formalities out of the way: I'm seriously just so tired," to the camera, her eyes a little darker. "Like, I remember some of the older kids saying senior year can be the worst, but they really undersold it. Big time. It's my own fault, of course, trying to pack it full of classes I don't have to take and extracurriculars that take up far too much of my time. It's all so exhausting. Why am I even doing this to myself? I ask myself that question a lot, particularly when I get home from a long day of school and cheering and cooking and all I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep, but I have homework and... well, I have you guys.

"That's the truth, isn't it? I have you guys, and there are a lot of you out there who look to me for _something_. It's a responsibility I've taken on, and I'm so grateful for it. So, I ask myself why I do all of this? It's all for myself, of course. For my family and friends, but it's also for the lot of you.

"I get letters and emails and tweets all the time from kids and adults all over the country and the world, and I try to read all of them eventually. Sometimes, hearing about your attempts at the recipes and hearing how I've helped you get through some rough days just makes it all worth it. It makes everything worth it." She smiles this sad, little smile, and then yawns in that adorable way that makes Rachel want to reach out and touch her.

Quinn shifts to retrieve something out of frame, and then resettles with a piece of paper in her hands. "I read this letter yesterday," she explains. "It's dated a few weeks ago, but I managed to get to it only now, and it's a truth that won't ever leave me, I know. It's from a young lady named Caitlin from Oklahoma. She wrote to me, telling me about how she uses my videos to help her deal with the awful bullying she goes through on a daily basis. She wrote about how her once best friend discovered her personal diary and decided it would be a good idea to out her at school, and her life has been painful and unbearable ever since."

Quinn sets the letter aside, her eyes looking glassy. "I thought, maybe, I could contact her today," she says. "I thought I could offer her something, a kind word or just a mention, something, just to let her know that it doesn't have to be all bad. I didn't want her to think her life wasn't worth living, just because people were telling her it was." She licks her lips, looking distraught all of a sudden, and Rachel's heart hurts. "I was too late."

Rachel gasps in surprise, and she feels something crack in her chest for some girl she doesn't even know.

Quinn breathes in deeply and releases it slowly. "I did some research, and the statistics are horrific," she says, shuddering. "Nobody should feel that: the impossibility of living life, the lack of somewhere to turn to, or the sheer anguish of believing there's nothing more. Not over something they have no choice over. Not for anything." Quinn's jaw clenches, and she looks haunted. "I have friends who exist in the LGBTQi community. My best friend's parents are gay. It's something I support; they are people I support. I get that it's easy to say that, and then claim not to be homophobic, right? The same way people claim not to be racist by saying they have African American and Latino friends, as if it proves something." She shakes her head, looking mildly disgusted.

Rachel wants to take out her own phone and dial Quinn. She just wants to talk to her right now, possibly berate her for not confiding in her about Caitlin and about this video beforehand.

And about this: "These aren't just words from me. This is a serious, fundamental problem, and too many young people are losing their lives because people just don't want to understand. I'm a Christian, a devout believer in God, and I know this isn't what He would want. Believe what you want about homosexuality being a sin or not, but answer me this: is it a sin enough to be punished by death?"

Rachel feels tears well up in her eyes, because this is all hitting far too close to home for them. For Kurt. For her parents.

For anyone who has ever been ostracised for whom and how they love.

Quinn goes on to talk about the many initiatives she's found in her research; she talks about how she's planning on donating money and her time, which is the least she can do, in honour of young, sweet Caitlin, who just wanted to live life, free and happy.

Quinn encourages her subscribers to educate themselves, and to learn tolerance, even if they are conditioned to think it's wrong. She asks them to care; to be kind, and to find room in their hearts to accept that not everyone in the world is like them, and it's the world's differences that make it wonderful.

Quinn finishes with a quiet, "I like to think that, if ever I were to come out as anything other than completely straight, all of you would accept me for who I am." She shrugs a little. "Would that be too much to ask?"

Rachel feels her body ache with the need to hold Quinn in her arms. Their text conversation the night before gave nothing of this away, and she wishes she'd known.

Quinn finishes by mentioning The Trevor Project and various Suicide Prevention Initiatives. She dedicates the video to Caitlin and her memory, vowing to do what she can to ensure as few young people are lost to this fate as she can physically prevent. It's a heavy promise, and she mentions that the weekend's videos will, hopefully, be lighter.

"It's a potato theme," she says, her smile small but present. "Courtesy of Noah. So, if you want to thank anyone, thank him. Please do. Blow up his _Twitter_ , really, so he never forgets how important he is to you and me." She grins for a moment, and then slowly signs off.

The video leaves Rachel reeling.

"Holy shit," she whispers.

Kurt takes the phone from her and clicks out of his _YouTube_ App. "How hectic?" he says quietly. "I kind of want to make a donation in Caitlin's name myself." He breathes out slowly. "I understand more than I would like to, and it breaks my heart that she thought the only way to escape was to - " he stops suddenly, his voice catching. "Your girlfriend is very special, Rachel."

"I know," she says almost offhandedly, as she takes out her phone to text Quinn.

**Rachel** : _I love you. I love you so much :*_

There's more she wants to say, but she doesn't know how to articulate it in text. She thinks people won't ask her too many questions about this, given the subject matter, but she should know better.

It's nothing terrible, per se, but Finn does ask, "She was referring to your parents, wasn't she?" at their Glee table at lunch, and she nods her head, yes.

She's a little worried about Quinn, who hasn't replied to any of her texts. She plans to duck out of the cafeteria early in order to call her, but she can't help wondering if Quinn will actually answer.

"She was," Rachel says, momentarily surprised that Finn is the one to bring it up, given he's never talked about Quinn to her before. She wasn't even aware he knew who she was.

Quinn's stock is growing, obviously, and the response to the video has been... immense. Of course, there are a lot of expected comments from trolls and Neanderthals, but the fact Quinn is promoting kindness and understanding, not necessarily acceptance, seems to resonate with people who don't exactly support the LGBTQi community.

It's a brave stance she's taken, and she's risking her fan base and support, but Rachel can tell this is something Quinn has been wanting to do for a while. She's almost seemed restless about it, which is something Rachel can understand.

"Cool," Finn says, and that seems to be all he's going to say about it.

She wishes it were that easy, but David Karofsky makes a comment about how she's managed to corrupt Quinn with her fathers' perversion when she walks past, and there's a part of her that wants to throw her tray of uneaten food in his face.

She doesn't, of course, but it's what she's thinking about as she makes her way to the Choir Room, her phone already in her hand, dialling Quinn's number immediately.

Quinn answers on the sixth ring, just as Rachel is stepping into the empty Choir Room, and Rachel's heart settles at the sound of her voice, sounding soft and tired.

"Hey," Quinn says, and then immediately yawns.

"Hi, Baby," Rachel says, dropping into a chair and sighing. "Busy day?"

"Fuck, you have no idea," she says. "You're actually lucky you caught me. I have a telephonic radio interview in about ten minutes and I'm trying to get my lunch down before then."

"I won't keep you, then," Rachel says. "I just wanted to hear your voice."

"Are you okay?"

"It just - I guess I just understand more than I'd like to," she says softly.

"Me too, Rach," she murmurs. "But, we're getting through it, and I love you. I love you so much."

"I love you, too, Quinn," she says softly.

Quinn is quiet for a moment, and then she says, "I would like to show you how much." She breathes out, as if she's worried about what she's about to ask. "I know we talked about it before I left, but we haven't tried it yet, and I would very much like to."

Rachel actually feels her body warm up at the mere idea of phone sex with Quinn. Later, of course, but, God, even just the anticipation of something like that fills her brain with images that make the rest of her school day a complete disaster.

Her afternoon is no better, and she's oddly distracted during dinner, her fathers maintaining conversation and her chipping in a few times.

Quinn has ruined her.

So, when the blonde texts her just before ten o'clock, Rachel is already tense beyond belief. The text, itself, is simple enough, but it opens the door for so, so much.

**Quinn** : _I miss your face XD_

Rachel smiles to herself, settling against the pillows of her bed. She shifts until she's comfortable as she types a reply.

**Rachel** : _Just my face_?

**Quinn** : _And some other things, I suppose ;)_

**Quinn** : _What are you wearing_?

Rachel actually rolls her eyes at how cliché the question is, and she shakes her head as she dials Quinn instead of replying. They definitely won't be able to do this over text.

"Let me guess," Quinn says when she answers the call; "you're wearing my athletic shirt and those black shorts that make your legs look so impossibly long."

Rachel looks down at herself and quirks an eyebrow. "Actually, Quinn, all I'm wearing is my underwear." Which, okay, may be a lie, but Quinn doesn't need to know that. She's already smug enough.

Quinn gasps softly. "Oh, well, that was my second guess," she says.

Rachel laughs softly. "How was your day?"

"Long," she says. "Exhausting, in all the ways, but it's definitely looking up." She pauses. "I need this. I need you."

"I'm right here, Baby."

Rachel wondered if it would be awkward for them, given they've never done anything like this before. Dirty talk is... new. She can't even be sure she has the correct vocabulary for it, but she's trying not to be too awkward about it.

It's a good thing Quinn decides to take initiative, and, before Rachel knows it, they're both breathing heavily in anticipation.

"I know you can hear me, Rachel," Quinn says, and her voice sounds indecent. It's got a delicious rasp to it that makes Rachel's throat dry.

Rachel swallows. Her fingers toy with the hem of her shirt, starting to slide up her abdomen. "Tell me."

"What do you want me to tell you?" Quinn answers immediately, her voice even more breathless. She sounds eager, open, like Rachel's words have released something she's been holding back.

It's intoxicating, and Rachel finds a certain confidence _somewhere_.

"Tell me what you're doing, right now," Rachel says, her voice surprisingly steady. "Tell me what your hands are doing."

Quinn moans quietly. "My hand is on my breast." She gasps a beat later, and Rachel can imagine her arching into her own hand. "It feels good. The other one is on my stomach. Teasing."

Rachel's hand slides up to toy with her own nipple, and she must make some sort of sound in response to the jolt of pleasure she feels because Quinn speaks up.

"Are you touching yourself, Rach?"

"Yes…" Rachel hisses, pinching harder so that her hips twitch.

"Describe it to me."

Rachel's face burns, suddenly and without warning. "Quinn…"

"Tell me, Rachel," she says softly. "It's okay, baby. Just, tell me what you're doing to yourself."

"I…I…" Rachel suddenly has no idea what to say – Quinn's voice is liquid fire in her veins and her awkward stuttering is nothing in comparison. She has no idea how to articulate what she's feeling when Quinn is clearly so skilled at unwinding her with words.

How did she get so good at this? She is good, right? Rachel wouldn't know. All she does know is whatever Quinn is doing is working.

Quinn keeps talking, trying to spur her on. "My right hand is – fuck – is on my clit, now. I'm so wet, Rachel." Her voice is almost a whisper, but Rachel hears every word, every tiny exhale through the phone connection.

Rachel closes her eyes, just listening as Quinn basically dismantles her with only words.

Her voice is a purr, a low rasp as she teases. "Can you hear me, Rachel Berry? Can you hear my fingers move, hear how wet I am for you?"

And, god, after that, Rachel can't stop the low moan she releases, her heartbeat racing wildly. She hears the rustle of sheets, Quinn's now-ragged breathing, and – _fuck._

The wet sounds Quinn's fingers make as she rubs herself are obscene and dirty and so, _so_ good. She wants more. She wants to see, as well. She wants to touch, to taste.

Rachel whimpers, and Quinn's breath hitches.

Quinn's voice is higher and more girlish than she's ever heard it, and the sound hits directly between her thighs. "Are you listening? God - it's all for you, Rach. I wish it were your fingers. I want to come on your fingers."

How Quinn manages to be so eloquent when she's well on her way to an orgasm is beyond Rachel's comprehension. She can't repress the desperate groan that Quinn's words cause, and she puts the phone on the pillow next to her head before shoving her hand impatiently down her sleep shorts.

"Me - me too." Rachel's voice is shaky as her fingers find her clit, slick and swollen. She feels herself getting closer even at the slightest contact, her arousal compounded exponentially by the alluring sounds of Quinn's fingers speeding up. Rachel frantically moves her own fingers to match her pace.

"Tell me what you're doing, please, Rachel – "

Rachel can't bring herself to be ashamed anymore, not with Quinn making those sounds, not with her own hand building up what feels like the most powerful orgasm she's ever given herself. The words tumble out before she can second-guess them.

"I'm rubbing my – my clit for you, Quinn, it's hard and it feels so good, I want to come for you, please -" Rachel isn't sure what she's begging for or why, but she knows Quinn is the only person who can give it to her.

Quinn lets out a ragged moan. Each of her exhales is a high, keening sound, and the sound of her fingers gets louder, as if she's more wet now than she was before. Rachel wishes she could see it; could see the wetness she knows is dripping down to stain Quinn's sheets.

"Rachel – I'm so close – "

"Put your fingers inside." Rachel rasps, panting. "Imagine they're mine –"

_"Rachel!"_

As Quinn cries out, Rachel can hear the scratchy sounds of her toes curling in the sheets, can hear the noises she makes twofold through the tinny phone line as she works herself through it, chanting, "Rachel, Rachel _, Rachel, fuck_..."

Hearing her name in that frantic, lilting voice is more than she can take and Rachel comes with a shout, losing coherency for a moment as her world narrows to Quinn's voice, the throbbing pressure in her lower abdomen, and the pleasure radiating from it as it finally releases.

Rachel listens as Quinn's fingers get jerky and then go still, her breathing slowing from gasps to whimpers to gentle pants.

Rachel is overwhelmed with the feeling she always gets after she does this - the desire to have Quinn close, to hold her and hear her voice and lose herself in the softness of her lips. But it's different this time, more acute, a sharp _need_ rather than a dull ache.

"Quinn," Rachel murmurs, debating over telling her this was a bad idea. She's ruined now. _They're_ ruined, because, God, she misses her so desperately now, and there's no going back.

"You were wonderful, Baby," Quinn says, her voice quiet. "You _are_ wonderful."

Rachel can't help but feel inexplicably proud that she's managed to do this right; that she's managed to make Quinn feel good after her rollercoaster of a day.

"Thank you," Quinn whispers, and Rachel feels warmth spread through her chest.

"Anytime, Quinn," she says, and it's a bit of a surprise just how much she means it. "Thank you, too."

"I wish - " she starts, but immediately stops.

"Me, too," Rachel says anyway, because the chances she's wishing for the same thing are high.

They fall into a momentary silence as they continue to recover, and Rachel has never loved the sound of someone's breathing more in her life.

"Do you know what today is?" Quinn eventually asks, breaking the quiet.

Rachel blinks at the sudden question, still trying to catch her breath. "Um, no," she says, thinking hard through the lingering fog in her brain. "Is the date supposed to mean something?"

Quinn exaggerates a gasp. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt, because you just had an orgasm, but I'm trying not to be insulted."

Rachel wracks her brain, trying to figure out if it's someone's birthday. "Quinn," she says. "Just tell me."

"Baby, you tweeted me for the first time, today, a year ago," she says, and Rachel feels her heart stutter in her chest. "Happy Twitterversary, Rachel Berry."

"Oh, my God, no, that is not a thing, Quinn Fabray," she says, laughing. "Please never say that again, ever."

"I'm going to tweet it."

"No."

"Right now."

"Quinn, you're going to lose so many cool points if you do that," Rachel warns, unable to keep her amusement out of her voice. "You will lose followers. You really will."

"No, I won't."

"I'll unfollow you."

Quinn laughs. "Like Hell you will," she says. "You love me."

Rachel sighs, happy and content and delightfully sated. "I do," she says. "I really, really do."

* * *

**Quinn Fabray - @lucyquinnfabray  
** _Happy Twitterversary, @_ **_BroadwayBerry_ ** _! Who knew that first tweet would lead to such a beautiful relationship? (Told you I would tweet it ;))_

* * *

**Rachel Berry - @BroadwayBerry  
** _Why do I even know you, @_ **_lucyquinnfabray_ ** _? The Twitterverse is embarrassed for you. I apologise on her behalf XD_


	12. Chapter 12

**XII**

Quinn makes an appearance on _Good Morning America_ the following Monday morning, and Rachel realises belatedly that Quinn is laying some kind of foundation for the day she does end up coming out. Somehow testing the waters to see how showing support for the LGBTQ+ community is going to affect her career.

Not particularly adversely, if her third appearance on the news show is anything to go by. She's poised and proper, and she answers all their questions with the air of someone who is passionate about what she's talking about.

Rachel snaps a picture of Quinn on her television screen and sends it to her with the caption _guess whose girlfriend looks ridiculously sexy? Mine ;)_

Quinn replies a few hours later, and Rachel just knows they're going to be having a very specific type of phone call tonight. She thinks she'll be better at it the second time around, having discovered what she's comfortable with, and figured out a few things that Quinn likes.

They have at least another six to seven months of this long-distance relationship to endure, and Rachel predicts they're going to be regular old pros by the time they hit graduation and actually get to spend some significant time together.

She honestly can't wait.

**Quinn** : _So_.

**Quinn** : _Simon is coming over for dinner tonight. Frannie says they've been talking quite a bit, and she thinks he's ready, or whatever. I can't tell if she wants me to come out to him, or if she wants me to give her permission to tell him about me_.

**Quinn** : _Also, you better have recorded GMA this morning. I'm going to check when I'm next there_.

Instead of replying, Rachel calls her, a smile already on her face before Quinn even answers.

"Hey, you."

Rachel closes her eyes, sighing softly. "When exactly is the next time you're going to be here?"

"I'm fine, and how are you, Rachel? Thanks for asking," Quinn says, laughing softly. "How was my day, you ask? Oh, well, it was rather pleasant, thank you, and how was yours?"

Rachel rolls her eyes behind her closed lids. "I miss you."

Quinn hums. "I miss you too, Broadway."

Rachel just listens to her breathe for a few moments, before she asks, "How are you feeling about this whole Simon thing?"

"Fine."

"Quinn."

She puffs out a breath. "I want my sister to be happy, and, for some unknown reason, he seems to make her happy. I just - I don't want to be some reason that she's robbed of that." She pauses. "I also don't want to feel this way, but I can't help that I feel as if I'm being forced to out myself. I mean, logically, I suppose I'm not... right? Am I? Am I allowed to feel this way? I mean, what happens if I say I don't want to tell him? What then? Isn't it my choice who I tell?"

Rachel doesn't respond immediately, choosing rather to take a moment to think about her response. She's not entirely sure what to say, so she tries to put herself in Quinn's position.

"Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you talked to Frannie about this?"

Quinn's silence is answer enough.

"Baby, I think you should talk to her," she says. "Tonight, maybe. Skip the dinner with Simon, and rather just talk to your sister, okay?"

Quinn sighs. "Okay," she says. "You're right, of course. So smart, you are."

"As long as you know."

* * *

While Rachel has known she's going to New York for college since she learned about Broadway, the idea of leaving home is a little frightening. She's grown up with present, loving parents, who are very involved in her everyday life. It's going to be weird not sitting down to dinner with them, or hearing them bicker over what movie to watch in the evening.

It doesn't take her long to figure out it might actually end up worse for her parents than for her. She's going to New York, embarking on this new adventure with Quinn, and with Kurt, and her fathers are going to be here, with an empty nest.

Sometimes, she catches Hiram just looking at her, as if he's trying to commit the moment to memory. And LeRoy, who's now started coming home a little earlier, just so the two of them can spend a little more time together while they make dinner. It's cute and a little heartbreaking, and she almost ends up in tears when she tells Quinn about it over _Skype_ the next day.

"I don't blame them," Quinn says carefully, her tone of voice one of understanding and slight amusement. "I wouldn't want to let you go, either."

Rachel eyes her critically, trying to figure out what is her girlfriend's emotional state. "You've had to do it a few times now, haven't you?"

"It fucking sucks."

Rachel smiles softly. "Well, I _am_ seeing you soon, aren't I?"

Quinn doesn't say anything. Just raises her eyebrows with a hint of delight.

Rachel huffs in annoyance. "I don't understand why you won't just tell me," she says. "I would tell you!"

"But, it's so much more fun this way," Quinn deadpans, lifting a hand to adjust the glasses on her face.

"For you, maybe," Rachel grumbles.

Quinn looks positively delighted. "But, Baby, I thought you liked it when I denied you things," she says, her voice dropping a register and shooting some kind of proverbial arrow straight between Rachel's legs.

Well.

Rachel makes a show of looking around. "I don't see you anywhere to deny me anything," she says, smiling entirely too innocently.

Quinn suddenly leans forward, practically growling, and Rachel feels the rush. "Take off your shorts,' Quinn says, sudden and stern.

Rachel doesn't bother to hide her pleased grin. "Yes, Ma'am."

* * *

Rachel gets more news about the entire Quinn/Frannie/Simon situation two days later, and she almost trips over herself when she reads Quinn's text.

**Quinn** : _We talked about it. A lot. (Like, fuck, my sister just doesn't shut up sometimes - how did I not know?) She cried, and I cried. Simon came over to Frannie's place, and_ _I guess I came out. It's all a bit of a blur at this point. The idiot didn't explode. (Though, he didn't really do much of anything, and I left before he could stumble through something or the other.) He's coming over for dinner tomorrow night_. _Frannie thinks he needs some time to process._

Rachel wants to call, but she's stepping into class now. She's also not particularly adept at texting under her desk, and she's not willing to risk her teacher's wrath.

She's a good girl.

Most of the time, at least. She feels heat creep up her neck at merely the _thought_ of the new dynamics she and Quinn have added to their physical relationship because of the separation.

She's said some things in the past few days that she never imagined she would _ever_ say. Just thinking about them makes her blush.

Just thinking about _Quinn_ makes her blush.

Rachel manages to shoot off a quick _I love you_ to Quinn before her class starts, and she's left to ponder over how she would feel if the same thing were happening to her. It wouldn't, obviously, as she doesn't have an accurate frame of reference to make the comparison. The closest thing she has to a 'sibling' is probably Kurt (her mind won't even let her _touch_ Quinn.)

Admittedly, Rachel felt a certain pressure to tell Blaine about her own sexuality, if they were all going to be friends, but Kurt didn't have to _ask_. It was almost just assumed once Kurt and Blaine turned _serious_. It probably helps that Blaine _isn't_ \- or wasn't - homophobic, which alleviated that worry, and isn't the same with Simon.

It's all rather complicated, but Rachel has a feeling it's all going to work itself out. She wouldn't say she's optimistic about things like this in general - she thinks she's been lucky in her little circle - but she admires Quinn's bravery.

Rachel _isn't_ coming out to her Glee Club or anyone else, not because she's worried of their reactions, but because she's worried they won't be able to keep it a secret. The more people who know; the greater the chances of the greater public finding out.

And, if they find out about her, she can only shudder to think what they'll learn about Quinn. She's not willing to take that risk, and, really, she's quite content with the level of secrecy she and Quinn currently have. All the important people in their lives now know, and that's the crucial part.

Rachel wonders if maybe she should also feel some level of anxiety at the fact Simon now knows about her, by proxy, too.

She decides not to.

Quinn is feeling enough for the both of them.

* * *

**Quinn** : _The Cyborg is here, and I think he's about to combust. God, his face is so red, it's fucking hilarious. He can barely look at me. I'm dying._

**Quinn** : _Oh my God, Frannie just told him to cut the crap; it's not as if I'm diseased!_

**Quinn** : _This is the best day of my life!_

**Quinn** : _Besides, of course, every day I've spent with you ;)_

**Quinn** : _I love you :*_

There's a large gap in texts, and Rachel can only wonder what's happened in that time. She hopes nothing bad, and she gets her answer with another series of texts that arrive a few hours later, just when she's crawling into bed after her _super exciting_ Friday night.

**Quinn** : _I think, maybe, he's not that bad, after all. There's hope for him yet, and he must be serious about my sister if he's willing to reevaluate his initial opinions on homosexuality. Education is key, I think. If more people were exposed to gay culture, it would no longer be taboo. It would just be a thing. Like pizza or something_.

**Quinn** : _I wouldn't be so terrified of what it would mean to my career_.

**Quinn** : _To yours_.

**Quinn** : _Baby, please check your email_.

Rachel frowns, because they haven't used email to communicate since before Italy. Quinn usually does that when she has a lot to say, and she doesn't require an immediate response. Admittedly, it makes Rachel a little anxious, but she doesn't think Quinn is one to drop profound truths in writing.

With a sigh, she shifts her attention to her laptop, having to lift it from its position on her carpeted floor and set it on her bed. The screen is bright, and she squints a little as she adjusts to the light. It's late enough in the evening that she should probably be asleep, but she's been waiting for Quinn's reply since the first set of texts arrived.

This, though, seems to have nothing to do with Simon, and Quinn's subject line is enough to make Rachel wary.

**To: rachel_berry  
** **From: lucyquinnfabray  
** **Subject: I've been meaning to tell you.  
** **Date: 18 November 2011**

_Broadway,_

_Don't be alarmed. I promise this is nothing bad._

_It's just that tonight, at dinner with my family and Simon, we started talking quite seriously about what's going to happen next year, and it's forced me to accept the fact I've been making unwitting plans about it for longer than I cared to admit._

_I'm sorry if I seemed reluctant to commit to New York for next year. I'm not. I'm going to be here. I just needed you to know I might not always be. I intend to broaden my horizons, at some point, but I'll always come back here. Especially if you're here. (Especially if you aren't coming with me.)_

_Still, there's something rather important I've been meaning to tell you. I've never told you this, mainly because I thought it was maybe too soon in our relationship, or I was just too busy enjoying this time with you. Whatever it was is unimportant, but I'm telling you now. Just, you know, don't freak out or anything._

_The thing is, you see, I bought an apartment. It was a little more than a year ago, when I was still freaking out about what my family would think about my sexuality, and I just wanted to have a place to live, if ever things turned sour and I was asked to leave._

_Of course, I wasn't able to sign any papers, so it's still in Peter's name (my chef de cuisine at the restaurant), but the documents are already in place for me to claim ownership when I turn eighteen in a few months. At the time, I didn't tell him why I would even need a place to stay that my parents wouldn't know about, but he's always just been there for me in a way I sometimes think he wishes he'd been able to be for his own children._

_Anyway, when I asked, he agreed with minimal hesitation. I think he was more concerned with where the money was coming from, given I don't exactly have access to my Trust. But, really, that's neither here nor there, and I'm telling you I have an apartment in Lower Manhattan._

_I really got it for the kitchen, I should admit. It's amazing. Almost my dream, if I'm being honest. I'll have to alter a few things, of course, but I love the colours and there's the perfect angle for the camera shot._

_It's where I intend to stay after graduation. I'm confused about a lot of other things about my future (which school I want to go to and what I actually want to study), but I know I want to be in that apartment, with that kitchen, continuing to make my videos and expanding my career. (With you.)_

_It's where I'm going to be next year, here in New York, and I was wondering if you would consider living with me. It has two bedrooms (three, if you count the office, which is definitely big enough), so you could have your own space, if you wanted it. We could even convert the office into a little studio, if that's something that would interest you._

_But, you know, please don't actually agree to live with me and then force us to sleep in separate rooms, because that would just be very mean, and I think I might die._

_You don't have to decide now, of course. I assume you have to talk to your parents about it. Just, you know, I've been thinking about what you asked me, and I'm telling you, with absolute certainty, if God is willing, you and I are going to get to be in New York next year. Together. Believe me when I say I want nothing more._

_I love you. In ways I didn't even know were possible._

_Love,  
_ _Quinn_

When she's finished reading, Rachel thinks maybe she's never going to be prepared for a life with Quinn Fabray. She doesn't think she ever wants to be.

It's quite late in the evening, but she knows Quinn is still awake, so she's unsurprised when she gets a tired, "Hello," two rings after she places the call.

"You're a little ridiculous, you know that?"

Quinn hums in response, and then says, "God, I miss you so much."

Rachel closes her eyes. "How tired are you?"

"Very," she says, which must mean something, because Quinn is almost as insatiable as Rachel is, and the fact she nixes the chance of phone sex is telling. "But, I love you."

Rachel smiles to herself. "Quinn, I love you, too," she says. "I won't be able to live with you."

Quinn sighs. "I thought as much."

"I have to stay on campus in my first year," she says. "Won't you have to, as well?"

"Not necessarily," she says. "My address is New York, and they need the space for out-of-staters, I guess?"

"Who's 'they?'"

"I'm trying to see who I can get the most out of," Quinn says. "Columbia and NYU are at the top of my list at the moment. I can take classes in Business Management and Creative Writing, and then attend the CIA when I can. The scheduling isn't going to be easy, but I've spoken to a recruiter at Columbia, and she said there's a way to make it happen."

Rachel breathes out. "Isn't - isn't that going to be too much?"

"Not really," she says. "The Culinary Institute of America has a culinary career training program that you can take at your own pace, designed for students who are working and studying at the same time. If I'm at Columbia for four years, I'll be able to emerge with my double major and a diploma from the CIA. And then I can train more when I'm over in Europe."

Rachel thought she managed to wrap her head around just how much of an overachiever her girlfriend is, but Quinn still manages to surprise her. She's also a bit of a workaholic, and Rachel wonders if it was written in the stars that she was going to find someone as committed to her trade as she is.

For a crazy, ridiculous moment, she worries over how difficult it's going to be to pick a time to start having children.

Wait.

"Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you a completely random question that has no bearing at all on anything we've been talking about?"

Quinn yawns cutely. "Uh, sure, what's up?"

"Do you want to have children?"

Quinn's answering silence is expected, and Rachel holds her breath. "One day, yes," she finally says. "I want to be established and successful enough that I'll actually be able to be there to raise them, but, yes, Rach, I want to have children. Do you?"

Rachel releases the breath she's been holding, mainly in relief. "I do, definitely," she says.

"With me?" Quinn asks, and her voice sounds oddly small.

"I wouldn't want my kids to turn out like anyone other than you, Quinn Fabray," she says, never sounding more serious about anything more than in this moment. "I told you I intend to spend the rest of my life with you, and I mean it."

Quinn is quiet for a long moment. "I want at least two," she says. "Maybe two girls."

"Three," Rachel says. "A baby boy."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Quinn breathes out. "We'll get started on making these babies as soon as I see you."

Rachel laughs out loud. "And, when is that going to be?"

Quinn hums. "I love you, Rachel Berry."

"When am I next seeing you?" she asks, suddenly needing to know how much longer she's going to have to survive before she gets to feel the warmth of Quinn's body again.

"I love you," Quinn says again.

"When, Quinn?"

"Goodnight, Baby," she says. "It's late, and I have a full day tomorrow."

"Quinn Fabray, answer the question."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, Rach," she says. "Sleep well and dream sweetly. I love you."

Rachel is left to ask her question to Quinn's dial tone.

* * *

Quinn visits again for Thanksgiving.

She lands early on Thursday morning, and Rachel is the one to fetch her from the airport in Columbus, desperate for the chance to spend some time alone with her before they're faced with her parents and the holiday as a whole.

The airport is packed, as is expected, but Rachel still runs through the crowds when she spots Quinn, unable to control herself. Her instincts lead her straight into Quinn's arms, and she doesn't even care what they look like to the public.

"Hi," Quinn breathes, tightening her grip on Rachel's form, squeezing as tightly as she possibly can. "God, I missed you so much."

Rachel can barely form words, so she doesn't bother to try. Instead, she just holds on for entirely too long, and then blushes madly when they finally break apart. She likes to think she's over the blushing, but apparently not. She's never quite been able to get over how it feels to have Quinn look at her like that.

"Hey," Rachel finally says, finding words. "You're here."

"I'm here," Quinn confirms, her eyes unable to look away from Rachel's. She can barely contain herself, now that she's here, standing in front of her and within touching distance. Really, she has half a mind to drag Rachel into the closest bathroom and spend the next hour worshipping her.

But... that will probably have to wait, because, ew, gross.

God, but for how long?

Rachel takes Quinn's backpack with her one hand and slings it over her shoulder, before linking the fingers of her other hand with Quinn's. "So, we're expected home for dinner later," she says; "but my parents were very firm about the fact they're the ones doing all the cooking. You're to do nothing, apparently."

Quinn laughs softly. "Good thing I already cooked a Thanksgiving dinner for my family last night," she says. "I think my subscribers would have a fit if I didn't post anything about it."

"Sneaky," Rachel says, tugging Quinn along. "They'll never even know you're not even in New York."

"I feel as if I'm on some kind of covert mission," she admits with a smile.

"To do what, exactly?"

"Well, for starters, to bring you an abundance of pleasure," she murmurs, and Rachel's body is already buzzing. "But, really, I've missed you so much… I don't even care what we do. Just, you know, let's do our best not to be recognised."

Rachel shoots her a look. "Baby, you're the one who walked off that plane looking like a supermodel."

Quinn blushes, ducking her head. "Well, I had to dress up for my girl, didn't I?"

Rachel's gaze takes her in, from head to toe, and Quinn does her best not to squirm under the scrutiny. "I like this look on you," she says. "You look as if you're stepping out of Fall and right into Winter."

Quinn glances down at her outfit: dark, sinfully tight jeans, a low-cut sweater top that's hidden by her black coat, a grey scarf and black ankle boots with just enough heel to accentuate the muscles in her legs. "I bought most of this in Rome," she says.

"I remember," Rachel says, leading the way out of the main airport building and towards the parking garage. She fishes for the parking ticket in the back pocket of her own jeans as they walk, vaguely aware of Quinn walking entirely too close to her.

It's going to be a long afternoon.

"I thought maybe we could get some lunch," Rachel says once they get to her car. She pops the trunk, and Quinn lifts her suitcase into the empty space. "Do you need this?" Rachel asks of the backpack, preparing to drop it in the trunk as well.

"Just my purse," Quinn answers.

Rachel shakes her head, and then dumps the bag on the suitcase and slams the trunk closed before Quinn can even comment.

"Okay...?"

"You don't need your purse," she tells Quinn. "You're in Ohio, now, which means I'm the one who gets to treat you, okay?"

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "And, where was all this fire when I was here for Halloween?"

Rachel blushes. "You surprised me," she defends weakly. "Baby, I'm quite certain I'm still recovering."

Quinn's smile turns smug almost immediately, and Rachel rolls her eyes, absently reaching up to kiss her cheek.

"Now, get in the car," Rachel says. "I have great plans for you."

Great plans really don't amount to all that much. Rachel takes her for an early lunch at one of Columbus' best - and affordable on a student budget - vegan restaurants, and, while Quinn shoots her a look of utter disbelief, she actually doesn't say anything about it.

If anything, Rachel is convinced Quinn rather enjoys her meal, casually asking the waiter what exactly goes into the vegan patty of the burger she decides to order.

The poor boy looks utterly bewildered and suitably flushed under Quinn's attention. It's obvious she's focused on the answer, even making a mental note of it, and Rachel feels sorry for him. Even she withers under Quinn's 'food' gaze, and they've been together for eight months already.

"Thank you," Quinn eventually says, and young Joey scampers away.

Rachel clicks her tongue. "You're evil."

Quinn smiles innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't."

Quinn sips at her water, her eyes dancing with mirth. "I've really missed you, Rachel," she says. "I have no idea how I've survived this month without seeing you." She pauses. "Without touching you."

Rachel leans forward and drops the volume of her voice. "You have a good imagination," she says, her tone laced with innuendo.

Quinn just drinks more of her water, her throat bobbing, and Rachel realises she's just succeeded in turning herself even more on by her little display.

Well.

After they've eaten, Rachel takes Quinn to a specialty convenience store to pick up some foreign ingredients. She wants to try out some Middle Eastern dishes, specifically for Hiram. Quinn intends to record some of it, and keep the footage for some time in the future.

Rachel has never asked how many videos Quinn has in storage, and she's not sure she wants to know. Quinn takes her _YouTube_ channel very seriously, and she's very religious about it. Loyal and committed.

Rachel isn't even a little bit surprised that those attributes would translate to their relationship. Rachel has never once felt romantically insecure with Quinn. Professionally, yes, but she's never once entertained the idea that anyone else could ever get Quinn's sexual or emotional attention.

Rachel watches her intensely as Quinn walks the aisles of the store, getting way too excited about all the foreign ingredients she comes across. It's way too adorable, and entirely not fair.

"They have Harissa paste, Rachel," Quinn says, almost breaking into a happy dance. She does jump a little in place, and Rachel feels herself fall even more in love, which is something she didn't think was possible.

"I don't know what that is," Rachel says, stepping closer to Quinn and studying the small glass jar in her hand.

Quinn smiles her food smile, ready to divulge some food information. "It's this hot chilli paste from North Africa. It's used a lot in Moroccan cuisine, but it originates from Tunisia."

Rachel steps right in close to Quinn's side, humming for her to continue.

"It's one of my favourite flavours," she explains, subconsciously licking her lips. "I usually make it myself with roasted red peppers, Serrano peppers, spices and herbs like garlic paste, caraway seeds, coriander seeds, cumin and, of course, olive oil, but I like to buy it ready-made, too. When I can, because mine doesn't always turn out the way it should."

Rachel runs a hand along Quinn's arm, just wanting to touch her. "You do like your red chillis, don't you?"

Quinn looks at her, eyes a little dark. "I have to ask, Rachel," she says, sounding entirely too formal. Like they're discussing the weather. "Will we have time to fuck before we go to bed tonight?"

Rachel sucks in a sharp, surprised breath, because Quinn has _never_ said anything like that to her before. The words almost don't match her demeanour: casual and borderline aloof, and it hits Rachel right where it counts.

"Because, if not, I suggest you find us a private place to do so in the next hour, or I will get us arrested for public indecency when I decide enough is enough and take you up against the closest wall."

Well.

And, if they're late for Thanksgiving dinner, well, nobody has to know why.

* * *

In the grand scheme of things, Quinn hasn't spent all that much time with Rachel's parents. Just a single evening during her first visit to Lima, and even that was cut short because they attended a Halloween party. While Rachel knows Hiram and LeRoy like Quinn, they don't particularly _know_ her beyond what Rachel has told them or can be found on her _Wikipedia_ page.

Rachel doesn't know if Quinn realises this, because she's oddly fidgety while they wait for dinner to be served. She can't seem to sit still, moving around and inspecting their DVD collection, the pictures on display and even the shelf of books in the corner of the living room.

It takes Rachel far too long to figure out Quinn doesn't know what to do when she's not allowed to be in the kitchen, and she lets out a laugh when she does. Quinn glances over at her, eyebrows raised in question as she returns the book in her hand to the shelf.

"What?" Quinn asks, frowning, as if she's just realised Rachel is laughing at her.

"You're very cute, Quinn Fabray," she says, which seems to befuddle Quinn even further. She holds out her arms. "Come here," she says, waving her hands in invitation.

Quinn eyes her uncertainly, her eyes flicking towards the kitchen, where Rachel's fathers seem to be bickering about something or the other. Rachel just waits, letting Quinn make the decision to join her on the couch if she feels comfortable enough to do so.

Being here is different to being in New York in that way. It took Quinn a while to grow comfortable with being any kind of affectionate with Rachel in front of her own parents, so Rachel is being patient while they're in front of _her_ parents.

Quinn eventually makes a decision, closing the space between them and settling on the couch beside her. It's not quite in her arms - which is disappointing - but Quinn does rest a hand on her thigh and say, "I'm really glad I'm here."

Rachel places a hand over Quinn's, quietly marvelling at the soft skin under her fingertips. This moment is in such contrast to their heated moments from the afternoon, and she has to do her best not to blush over just _what_ those hands were doing to her several hours ago.

"I love you," Rachel says, just needing to say the words.

Quinn smiles at her, soft and beautiful. "Are _you_ glad I'm here?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"Not an answer to my question," she quips. "Answer the question, Rachel Berry."

"So clingy."

Quinn laughs softly, and then leans over to kiss her cheek. She lingers a while, and Rachel smiles. "Just tell me."

Rachel turns her head to look at Quinn, their faces entirely too close to each other. "I'm extremely glad you're here," she whispers. "Like, I don't even know if I'll be able to explain it to you."

And, Quinn kisses her. Like the last time Quinn was here, Rachel gets the feeling their weekend is going to consist of a lot of kissing - and, perhaps, some other things, too.

Quinn hums low in her throat, and Rachel immediately knows it's her intention to deepen the kiss. There are some things she's managed to figure out about Quinn Fabray and she smiles to herself when Quinn does just that.

But, then, Quinn is pulling back and asking, "What's funny?"

Rachel reaches up to cup her left cheek, meeting her gaze steadily. "I'm so glad you're here," she says, soft and serious.

Quinn looks so adorably perplexed by the repeated words, Rachel's tone catching her off guard. "Okay."

Rachel smiles, kisses her just once, and then says, "You can cook tomorrow, I promise."

Quinn laughs softly, leaning into Rachel's touch. "That obvious, huh?"

"You're practically radiating I-don't-know-what-to-do-with-my-hands," she points out.

"Well," Quinn murmurs. "I _do_ know what to do with them, but I don't think that's entirely appropriate for the living room of your parents' house."

Rachel blinks.

"While they're in the house, that is," Quinn adds a beat later, and Rachel flushes.

"What did we even talk about before we started having sex?" she asks, genuinely curious, because their conversations always seem to allude to some sexual act. Innuendo a plenty these days.

Quinn shrugs. "We're no longer young and innocent," she offers.

Rachel drops her hand and kisses Quinn's cheek. "Were you ever innocent?" she asks, a teasing lilt to her tone.

Quinn blinks, her facial expression shifting into something worryingly serious. "Maybe not _me_ ," she says, her tone flat and purposeful. "But Lucy was."

Rachel has never managed to get used to the way Quinn sometimes refers to Lucy as if they're separate people. She doesn't know if it's a good or bad thing; that Quinn has managed to move so far away from the person she used to be.

But, has she, at all? They might have different names now, but they're still the same person, right? Just, evolved. It's not as if Quinn wasn't expected to grow and change and become a different person - Rachel's not the same person she was when she was nine, just that she bears the same name - but that doesn't mean Lucy's disappeared completely, does it?

"I love you," Rachel says, just because she can. "I know I would have loved Lucy, too."

Quinn's smile is a little sad, lopsided and genuine. "You think so?"

Rachel nods. "I would love every version of you."

Quinn looks curious. "Even if I'd managed to turn into a cold and cruel bully?"

Here, Rachel pauses, because she's unsure if _that_ aspect of Quinn would have changed _her_ so intrinsically. "I think so," she eventually says. "Despite your… actions, or how you dealt with peer pressure, essentially, I know this person right in front of me would have always been inside whoever you were pretending to be."

"That's a lot of belief in me, Rach," she dismisses, her cheeks tinged pink.

"I think it's just enough, actually," Rachel tells her sincerely. "I know people say actions speak louder than words and all that, but I do believe actions and words are capable of _hiding_ a lot. You're my beautiful, sometimes misunderstood, profound girlfriend who feels everything so deeply, and I love you. Even if it took you longer to get comfortable enough to be this person in front of me, I still think we would have reached this point in our lives."

"Where I'm yours, and you're mine?"

"Exactly," Rachel assures her, and then steals a quick kiss. "Everything in it's own time, remember? We would have figured it out eventually."

Quinn smiles softly, her eyes still a little disbelieving. "You're almost too good to believe."

"Maybe," she offers. "But, stick around, Fabray, and I promise to show you my crazy."

"I look forward to it," she says, and she sounds so sincerely serious that it gives Rachel pause.

"Really?"

Quinn nods, and then grins with mischief. "We need _some_ balance in this relationship, you know?"

" _Hey_!" she admonishes, just as Hiram says, "Girls, dinner!"

* * *

Kurt manages to rope Rachel and Quinn - but mostly Rachel - into braving Black Friday with him. _My boyfriend is literally in Vermont right now; you can't leave me to get trampled by myself_. When Rachel asks, Quinn says yes, and then she dons a thick scarf and a woollen hat that, combined, hide almost half her face.

"It's fucking cold," Quinn complains, and Rachel loves her so irrevocably; she barely knows what to do with herself.

Rachel looks at her. "I'm pretty sure it gets colder in New York, Quinn," she says.

"That's not the point," Quinn grumbles. "The point is that it's cold and we could be spending the day warm and inside, but now we're going outside and into the wild, just to die at the hands of some crazy, deranged shoppers."

Rachel rolls her eyes. "And they call me the dramatic one."

Quinn bumps her with her hip. "Baby, but you are," she says. "You and Kurt."

"That's why we need you," Rachel says. "Aren't you the one who said it was all about balance?"

"Har har," she fake-laughs. "We'll see who's this sassy when we're frozen and aching later."

"Indeed we will."

It's definitely not Rachel. Her sass freezes with her fingers, which end up blue and bruised from the cold, yes, but also from fighting over a _Marc Jacobs_ jacket with some woman with far too much determination.

Quinn just kissed her cheek and promised to buy her one for her birthday.

Rachel's in a foul mood when they get home, and it takes Kurt putting on a fancy fashion show of all the items he managed to get to lift her spirits. It helps that Quinn is pressed against her back, of course, and she starts to feel more content than she has in quite some time.

It's probably the reason she opens her mouth and says, "I want you both in tomorrow's video."

Kurt freezes where he's busy prancing, and then laughs. "Seriously?"

Rachel nods, and then turns her head to look at Quinn's face. "Are you up for playing piano again?" she asks. "Or, are you actually willing to sing?"

Quinn smiles, soft and small. "I can't sing."

"Lies."

Quinn kisses her cheek. "I can play piano," she says. "Do you have a song in mind?"

Rachel looks at Kurt. " _Defying Gravity_?"

"Oh, my God, yes," he gushes.

Which is how the three of them end up spending the next three hours carefully planning and rehearsing the _Wicked_ classic. Kurt marvels at Quinn's piano-playing skills, and the blonde blushes through his teasing about how skilled her hands are.

Rachel throws a pencil at him.

The three of them end up falling asleep in the basement, curled up together on the floor under a heap of blankets. Rachel's dreams are sweet and endless, and she's never been able to get over how it feels to wake up in Quinn's arms.

In the morning, they record their song, Quinn just out of frame, and Rachel and Kurt propped on stools. Well, they start there, but the song requires emotion that can't properly be expressed while remaining seated. It comes out perfectly, though, and both Quinn and Rachel edit the video when Kurt eventually heads home for lunch with his family.

"I like it," Rachel declares once they've watched the complete product, clearly satisfied with what they've managed to put together.

"Well, I _love_ it," Quinn counters, pressing a kiss to Rachel's neck.

"I love _you_ ," Rachel immediately counters, maybe feeling a little childish as soon as the words leave her mouth.

Quinn trails her lips upwards. "Show me."

She does.

* * *

Rachel thinks she would probably cry if they weren't standing in a crowded airport. It's not as if she expected saying goodbye to Quinn to get any easier, but she can't quite understand why it keeps getting harder.

Of course, they already said their long farewell in private, but this moment feels heavy and tense with something that makes Rachel want to wrap her arms around Quinn's body and never let her go.

"We're going to see each other for Winter Break," Quinn says, smiling softly. "It'll be here before you know it."

Rachel pouts. She can't help it. "But, I have so many exams and Sectionals and turning eighteen to get through until then," she complains.

"I know," Quinn says, looking and sounding borderline distraught. "I have some of those things, too," she adds a moment later. "I know I won't be able to be here, but I intend to support you any way I can. Baby, you know that."

"I know," she murmurs. "And, you know I'm going to do the same. I just - I guess I wish things were different."

"Soon, Rach," she assures, pulling Rachel into a long hug. "It'll all be here before you know it."

Rachel hides her face in the crook of Quinn's neck and inhales deeply. "I love you," she whispers, lips against Quinn's skin.

Quinn shivers. "I love you, too."

"Don't forget."

"As if you would ever let me."

* * *

"I have so much to tell you."

Quinn chuckles in Rachel's ear, laugh warm and comforting, even through the phone's tinny connection. "I'm listening," she says.

Rachel breathes out, feeling the tension in her body lessen. It's been a long, long couple of days since Quinn left, and she's missing her like crazy. School has been intense for both of them, and their daily phone calls have really been short goodnights and promises to talk more the next day.

This is the first time they've actually been able to talk for an extended period of time, and it's only because Quinn is out of school at her Culinary Club Sectionals, and Rachel is sitting in the Choir Room during her lunch period.

"Well, first, you should know I miss you," Rachel starts.

"I miss you too, Broadway," Quinn says, her voice low. "So much."

Rachel closes her eyes. "Also, Kurt is our newly-elected Student Class President," she says. "I'm his Vice."

"No way!"

"Totally way."

Quinn chuckles. "Baby, that's awesome," she says, and she sounds sincere. "Congratulations to you both. I'm sorry I forgot the vote was happening this week."

"It's okay," Rachel says; "you've been busy."

"It's no excuse."

Rachel just hums, deciding not to waste their time arguing this point.

"Well, now, the two of you can really get on board with the Quinn Initiative," Quinn says, alluding to her plans to revolutionise school cafeterias. It's been a bit of a bumpy ride already, but Quinn is nothing if not determined. "You can be part of the pilot program and get the ball rolling in your own school. If you're interested."

"Of course," Rachel says automatically, as if she wouldn't be. Seriously. "I'll talk to Kurt, and we can set up a time to discuss it further."

"Awesome."

Rachel can just imagine her excitement, as she is wont to get when she gets to talk about food or any of her philanthropy. "Oh, did I tell you we're singing songs by Michael Jackson for Sectionals?"

"Oh, cool," Quinn says. "Which ones?"

"Obviously _Man In the Mirror_."

"I think that's one of my favourites," Quinn admits. "Just, you know, beyond the tune or melody, the lyrics are..." she trails off. "Just, it's one of my favourites."

"Baby, are you okay?"

"Hmm?"

"You seem... melancholy," she points out, trying to sound as delicate as she can manage. It's hard, especially in moments like this, not to be able to see her face or touch her and hold her. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine," Quinn says, which they both know is a lie. "I just - do you think I could be doing more for other LGBTQ+ youth if I were out?"

Rachel sucks in a sharp breath, definitely not expecting that particular question. "Quinn, Sweetheart, that isn't a question I can answer for you."

"That's because we both already know the answer," Quinn says, and she sounds a lot sad and a little bit defeated.

"Baby, tell me what happened."

"I can't say it's really any one thing," Quinn says. "I just - I keep getting these messages from girls and boys who are struggling with their own sexuality, and I feel disingenuous being someone they can look to when I'm hiding so much of who I am."

Rachel desperately wants to hold her. "Oh, Quinn," she breathes.

"I'm sorry," she says. "You said you have things to tell me, and here I am diving into heavy topics. What else has happened?"

Rachel is tempted to tell her it's okay and they can talk about the potential of her coming out, but what she ends up saying when she opens her mouth is, "I'm having dinner with my mother tonight."

Quinn sucks in a sharp breath, and they're both silent for a full minute. Rachel doesn't usually talk about her biological mother. In fact, Quinn knows very little about the woman, save for the role she played in bringing Jesse into her life.

Eventually, Quinn asks, "How are you feeling about it?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Rachel murmurs. "It's kind of stressing me out, actually, and I already have so much to deal with. Why are parents so much drama?"

Quinn chuckles softly. "I think it kind of comes with the job description," she says.

"Shelby isn't even my _parent_ ," Rachel points out, and her voice shakes slightly. "It's… bullshit."

"Baby," Quinn breathes.

"I - I just - I wish you were here."

Quinn makes a strangled sound, and she sighs. "Me too," she says quietly. "I wish I could hug you and hold you and kiss you and let you know that everything is going to be okay, because it is."

Rachel closes her eyes, just focusing on Quinn's voice. She listens as Quinn tells her everything is going to work itself out in the end. She pays attention as Quinn promises her it's not long to go now until they can be together, in the same city, spending days and nights together and living their best lives.

She hears Quinn makes all the reassurances in the world, and Rachel falls more and more in love.

"Oh," Quinn suddenly says. "Baby, I'm going to have to go."

"Hmm?"

"The perks of being captain of this ridiculous club," Quinn says. "I called a meeting to go over recipes before this evening's showdown, and I kind of have to be present."

"It's terrible how that's required, isn't it?"

"You're telling me."

"Thank you, Quinn." For so much. For everything.

Quinn audibly hesitates, as if there's something more she wants to say. There probably is, but she decides against it, and goes for a safer, heavier, "I love you."

Rachel almost hears what Quinn isn't saying, and she appreciates her for it. "I love you, too."

* * *

Rachel wouldn't go so far as to call it awkward, but it's definitely in that realm. She's never really had a proper, sit-down conversation with Shelby before, and she can't help comparing this interaction to the ones she's shared with Judy.

From the moment she met Shelby, it's been difficult. It's been so easy with Judy, in contrast. Even without adding on the pressures of the woman being her girlfriend's mother, Judy has taken to her in a way that Rachel finds overwhelming and refreshing.

Judy has been more of a mother to her than Shelby will ever be, and Rachel wonders, for the umpteenth time, what she's actually doing here.

Shelby asked, and now Rachel is here, and there's a part of her that hates herself for it. She's different to the girl she was at the end of her sophomore year. She's better now, stable and happy, and she doesn't need Shelby. She's settled and loved and, sure, there's still so much she has to learn about herself, but she doesn't need Shelby for any of it.

The question now is, does she _want_ her?

"Jesse sent me a link to your _YouTube_ channel last week," Shelby says while they wait for their meals to arrive. "I think I've spent the entire weekend improving your view count."

Rachel manages a smile. "It's done much better than I ever thought it would," she admits. She thinks a lot of it is to do with Quinn, but Quinn denies it. _It's all you, Broadway. I've done nothing_. It's a lie, of course, because Rachel never would have known _how_ to do it in the first place without Quinn's influence.

"It's great that you're putting your talent out there," Shelby says, and she sounds sincere. "I know I definitely appreciate it."

Rachel hums softly, unsure how to respond. Everything on the tip of her tongue feels like a confession of sorts, and she can't shake the feeling that Shelby doesn't deserve to know anything about her life.

Shelby clears her throat. "How is school?"

Rachel shifts in her seat, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the expected question. "It's going well," she says. "They're putting on a production of _West Side Story_ next semester, which I'm definitely looking forward to."

"Are you planning to audition?"

"I am."

Shelby smiles. "Have you decided which song you're going to use?"

Now, Rachel has an endless number of options in her repertoire. She's been combing through them with the _West Side Story_ audition in mind, but she's also looking for the perfect song to wow the NYADA selectors.

It's not something she thinks she'll end up bringing up to Shelby, but it works its way into conversation during their meal, and Rachel can't help preening under the impressed look that slides onto Shelby's face.

It's not as powerful as knowing Quinn or her parents are proud of her, but it feels like enough. It also helps that Shelby _does_ know more than they do about this particular subject.

It's when they get to dessert that Shelby brings up the topic Rachel's sure parents are duty-bound to ask their teenage children about. Shelby clears her throat and asks, "So, are you seeing anyone?" and Rachel is lovesick enough that she can't even begin to suppress her smile.

It's borderline pathetic, really.

Shelby's own smile widens. "I'll take that as a yes," she says. "Last time I checked, you were dating Finn. Is he still in the picture?"

Rachel winces at the thought, recalling that the boy still hasn't quite managed to catch a clue that she's really, really not interested. "Definitely not," she says with a firm shake of her head. "We're - I'm not - we don't really see eye-to-eye at the moment," she confesses, and she almost laughs at the potential height joke Quinn would have made.

Shelby blinks. "Because of what happened at Nationals?"

Rachel stiffens. "You know about that?"

Shelby frowns at her reaction. "I might not be Vocal Adrenaline's Coach anymore, but I keep up with the show choir circuit."

"So, you knew?" Rachel asks again, and she really doesn't know what she's feeling in this moment. The entire thing was a nightmare for her, and she doesn't even know what she would have done without Quinn and Kurt and Judy, and even Jesse. But, Shelby knew, and - and -

"You've known all this time, and you - you never even said anything?" Rachel asks, and her voice is tight, hostile. Accusatory.

It doesn't take Shelby long to realise her mistake. "I - I didn't think you wo - "

"That's right," Rachel interrupts, scoffing and wondering where this response is even coming from. "You didn't think." She shakes her head. "You _don't_ think. About me. At all. Do you?"

Shelby sputters, obviously unsure what to say.

"My _YouTube_ channel has been live for months," she says, and her words are harsh. "You didn't even know it existed until _Jesse_ sent it to you, because you've never asked, and you've never cared!"

"Rachel," she tries.

"What do you even want from me, Shelby?" she snaps, and she just knows she's probably going to regret all of this in the morning. Right now, though, she doesn't care. She's done begging for attention, and she's _so done_ being some kind of afterthought. She doesn't have that with Quinn, or with her parents, and they've managed to teach her something very important because of it. "What are you even doing here?"

Shelby continues to stare blankly at her, and Rachel suddenly feels sick. This - this is why she knew this was going to be a bad idea. She's changed so much since she last saw Shelby. She doesn't need a _mother_. Shelby was at least right about that much.

It's abrupt: the end to their meal. Rachel is too polite just to walk out, even though she's desperate to. Instead, she gets the check immediately, pays her half despite Shelby's protests, and carefully circumvents Shelby's attempts to say something: apologise, maybe, or try to explain herself.

Rachel decides she's not having any of it.

Not tonight, at least.

Quinn's helped her realise that, as well. It's her decision whether to engage or not, and she's holding strong. She's made the decision to protect herself from whatever this is, and she thinks she should be proud of herself.

She just wishes she didn't feel so terrible about it.

* * *

**Quinn Fabray - @lucyquinnfabray  
** _Culinary Sectionals in the bag! Photo credit to @_ **_puckasaurus_ ** _#neverindoubt_

**Quinn Fabray - @lucyquinnfabray  
** ** _thetomcom_** _for the win with that amazing Caesar salad ;) Recipe's up on my FB page - definitely give it a try. I want to see your creations_.

**Quinn Fabray - @lucyquinnfabray  
** _Watch out for Cheerleading Sectionals coming this weekend! Any guesses on the music we're performing to? Anyone who gets it right will get a shoutout after we take the win :)_

* * *

**Rachel** : _So cocky_.

**Quinn** : _Excuse me_?

**Rachel** : _'After we take the win.' That's a little presumptuous of you, don't you think_?

**Quinn** : _More like realistic_.

**Rachel** : _Wow. I have no words_.

**Quinn** : _You like it_.

**Rachel** : _Definitely didn't say I didn't_.

**Quinn** : _What are you doing? Can I call? You seemed... off yesterday, and I think it's to do with your dinner with your mother. We don't have to talk about it or anything if you don't want to, but I would still like to hear your voice, if that's okay._

Rachel checks the time on her phone's screen. Quinn is at least right that she's seemed… off. She doesn't know what to say about her dinner with Shelby. It definitely could have gone better, but it also could have been much worse. Still, the fact Quinn has even noticed - via text, no less - is a little alarming, though not unexpected. Quinn really does know her a little too well.

**Rachel** : _I have class in fifteen minutes. Can we_ Skype _tonight_?

**Quinn** : _Of course! I have practice until nine, so I should be free at about nine-thirty. Or any time after that. Does that work_?

Rachel smiles to herself, almost overwhelmed by how lucky she is to have someone like Quinn so consistently in her corner. It's times like these that she's convinced it's all too good to be true, and she finds herself just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Still, they've been talking for more than a year now, and the most they've suffered from is the both of them actively avoiding a certain topic. Rachel has worries about the future, of course, but Quinn is so good at this part.

She's just so good.

**Rachel** : _Sounds perfect. You can help me study for my Trig. paper_.

**Quinn** : _Because you asked so nicely, huh_?

**Rachel** : _You're sweet, and I love you very much. Please help me study for my demon paper? I'll definitely fail without you_.

**Quinn** : _Much better_.

**Rachel** : _Rude_.

**Quinn** : _I love you too :*_

* * *

Quinn's hair is loose when she appears on Rachel's laptop screen, glasses perched a little skew on her nose and her eyes a little too bright.

"Baby," Rachel breathes, smiling despite herself. "You're exhausted."

Quinn scowls in that way that's entirely too adorable. "I am not," she argues, which is punctuated by a perfectly-timed and entirely too cute yawn. "Shut up."

Rachel laughs softly. "We don't have to talk if you want to get some sleep," she offers.

"No," Quinn says, and then yawns again. "Fuck."

"You've already had a busy week," Rachel points out. "We can talk tomorrow."

"Why do I get the feeling you're trying to get out of talking about the one thing we both know will probably make you feel better if you do talk about it?"

Quinn asks the question with a smile, obviously teasing, but Rachel still feels a flash of irritation at the constant topic. It comes right out of nowhere and it catches them both off guard when she snaps an, "I don't want to talk about it!" coupled with a frustrated growl and an exasperated, " _God_."

Quinn visibly flinches, and it has nothing to do with the internet connection. "Right," she says. "Okay then."

Rachel blinks, a frown on her face.

Quinn runs a hand over her hair and leans back. "You know, I think you're right," she says, and yawns again, though Rachel can't be sure if it's faked. "I _am_ exhausted." She looks away from the camera for a moment, and Rachel can easily tell everything she's saying is a lie. Her throat even bobs as she swallows. "So, I think I'm just going to go to bed."

Rachel barely gets a chance to respond before Quinn says, "Goodnight, Rachel." A pause. "I love you," and then hangs up.

Rachel feels the silence like she's been submerged in ice-cold water, and held down. Quinn has never just... hung up on her. Granted, she's also never snapped that harshly at her before.

Shelby.

This is all Shelby's fault.

Rachel sighs. Well, it's all too easy to blame Shelby for all of this - which she still does - but it's her own fault she's letting it affect her this way. Affect _Quinn_ this way. She feels a little sick, the more she thinks about it, and she reaches for her phone to send a text to Quinn.

Except, well, she's unsure what to say. She thinks she should apologise, but she also thinks Quinn shouldn't have pushed for her to talk. Even though there really wasn't much 'pushing' involved.

With a sigh, she exits her text thread with Quinn and rather pulls up Kurt's contact.

**Rachel** : _Question: what's the worst fight you've ever had with Blaine_?

Kurt replies within a minute, and Rachel wonders if he's trying to avoid doing homework as well.

**Kurt** : _Are we talking something serious here? If not, we had a completely pointless fight about bow ties, and we didn't talk to each other for almost a week_.

**Rachel** : _You're very serious about your bow ties_.

**Kurt** : _Don't even remind me_.

**Kurt** : _I'm sensing this is serious, though_.

**Rachel** : _It shouldn't be, but I think Quinn and I are going to end up making it so_.

**Kurt** : _It took five months of us dating for Blaine to tell me his father doesn't actually know he's gay_.

**Rachel** : _Whoa. What_?

**Kurt** : _Exactly! Like, I get not coming out to your parents, but I actually met the man. I mean, who did he think I was? A friend? Pssh_.

**Rachel** : _Did you actually fight, or was it one of those silent treatment things_?

**Kurt** : _Both_.

**Kurt** : _Do you want to tell me what's really going on here? What did Quinn do?_

**Rachel** : _It wasn't Quinn_.

**Kurt** : _Oh boy_.

Rachel sighs. Oh boy, indeed.

* * *

**Quinn Fabray - @lucyquinnfabray  
** _Did I call it or what? Cheerleading Sectionals in the bag! Check out a clip of our routine here, and the full video can be found on my FB page. #gogriffins_

**Quinn Fabray - @lucyquinnfabray  
** _Also, as promised, shoutout to @_ **_potstickersarelife_ ** _for guessing our routine's music. Definitely not taking the credit, though. @_ **_halespaulsen_ ** _picked the song that basically won it for us, so spam her, please and thank you :P_

* * *

Rachel reads the tweets three times, wondering if she's supposed to react to them. There's nothing overtly specific about what Quinn's said, but Rachel still feels as if there's some kind of message in the words.

They haven't talked.

Not really.

It's been three long, terrible days. Quinn has texted, somewhat, never asking anything specific and just giving her little updates on the ongoing events of her days. They're usually just single sentences, and Rachel thinks Quinn is trying to give her space.

Rachel hates it.

Hates that she can't find the words to apologise or explain or just, somehow, deal with it.

With Shelby.

With the fact Quinn cares enough to address it, knowing it's what Rachel needs, and then getting her head bitten off for her efforts.

With the idea that she's going to have to deal with this soon, because they're just two weeks away from going on holiday _together_.

First, though, she has her own Glee Sectionals to get through, and everyone is just a little cranky. Okay, they're _a lot_ cranky - Rachel included.

Rachel has been able to keep things relatively calm in the group, which has been difficult on most days. Usually, she has Quinn in her corner, helping keep her calm. But, now, Quinn is mad at her or something, and her own patience for Santana and Mercedes and their collective drama is dwindling. Falling to nothing.

Practically non-existent.

The second they start bickering over not getting enough lines of the songs they've already started practicing, Rachel lets out a sigh and quietly excuses herself to visit the bathroom. She's not... in it. Not even a little bit.

In the bathroom, hovering in front of the sinks, Rachel takes out her phone and pulls up Quinn's contact. She could call her. She doesn't, for a second, think Quinn would purposefully not answer. Still, the idea that her call could end up being ignored sets her on edge. She just knows this is going to get worse, the longer she puts it off.

Biting the bullet, Rachel dials Quinn, her heart rate rising as she holds the phone to her ear. If she's being honest, she doesn't know what she's going to say beyond _I'm sorry, please don't be mad anymore_ , so she's doubly surprised when Quinn answers right at the same time Santana swings open the bathroom door.

"Hello," Quinn says, her voice hesitant through the connection, at the same time Santana says, "Well well well, what do we have here?"

"Hey," Rachel manages to say into the phone, watching intently as Santana walks further into the room, like a predator sizing up her prey.

"You called," Quinn says, and she sounds pleased, if a little apprehensive.

"I did," Rachel says, turning her body slightly, as Santana approaches. "There are so many things I need to say to you."

"Rach," Quinn breathes. "If I overstepped, then you don't ha - "

"You didn't," Rachel interrupts, and Santana asks, "Didn't what?"

Rachel ignores her, listening for Quinn's response.

"What are you doing in here, anyway?" Santana asks. "Rachel Berry would never be caught on her phone during Glee."

"As if you know anything about me," Rachel tells Santana rather sharply, missing Quinn's response.

"Oh, I think I know more about you than you think," Santana muses, which sets Rachel a little on edge. "I've got you all figured out, you see."

"Rachel?" Quinn says in her ear, and Rachel closes her eyes for a moment.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says, looking away from Santana. "I - I shouldn't have snapped at you." She ignores the way Santana seems to light up at the sound of that. "You were right that I needed to talk about it, though. I just didn't want to admit the dinner went so horribly. Our relationship is already so weird, and I just made it worse."

"Am I allowed to ask what happened?"

"I've never really known where I stand with her," Rachel says and, this time, she looks right into Santana's eyes. "I've tried to keep it all a secret, you know, but Mercedes spilled the beans about who Shelby was to me before I even had the opportunity to process it." Her jaw clenches, her eyes narrowing when Santana let's out a small gasp.

Rachel takes a breath. "Maybe I wanted too much, the first time around, but she was the one who came into my life, and somehow was surprised when I wanted her to stay. She told me, at the end of our sophomore year that it was best if we just admired each other from afar. Essentially saying we were better off not in each other's life. She basically said she didn't want me, and, you know, I might have been able to stomach it if I didn't arrive at school on Monday morning to the news that a girl in my Glee Club by the name of Santana Lopez overheard the entire conversation and let everyone know that even my own flesh and blood wanted nothing to do with me."

All the while, Rachel keeps her gaze focused on Santana, watching as the Latina grows paler with every word she says.

"It's sobering, having all that repeatedly shoved in your face," Rachel continues. "I couldn't escape it, and it hurt more and more knowing that what they were saying was true. She was so desperate to meet me, and then she did, and then she decided I wasn't at all what she wanted, and that was supposed to be that."

"But, it wasn't," Quinn says, her voice low and soothing.

"No, it wasn't," Rachel agrees. "And, I moved on, you know? I have friends now, and parents and pseudo-parents and you, and I don't need her; I don't."

"But, you want her," Quinn whispers, suddenly understanding.

Rachel lets out a soft whimper, her gaze dropping to the floor. Now, she's just talking to Quinn. Santana may as well not be in the room. "I don't want to," she confesses quietly. "I want to want nothing to do with her. I want not to be curious about her. I want to be strong enough not to care that she's pretty sucky at this whole mother thing."

"I'm so sorry, baby," Quinn murmurs. "I wish - "

"I know," Rachel interjects. She really doesn't need Quinn to be all sweet and understanding when she's the one who's put them through this weird standoff. "I'm sorry I couldn't just talk about this before. I can't even explain what was going on with me."

"It's okay."

"It's really not," Rachel argues.

Quinn says something else, but Rachel's attention shifts because the door opens again, and suddenly Brittany is right there. Rachel misses everything but the way Santana seems to drift away from the blonde and towards her.

Weird.

Brittany notices the movement as well, and her face falls. "Mr Schue asked me to come and get you," she says, glancing between them as if they're hiding something.

"We'll be right there," Rachel says, and waits until the door closes behind Brittany to say into her phone, "Hey, so, I have to get back to Glee."

"Oh."

"Can I call you later?"

"Of course."

Rachel smiles in relief. "Okay," she says. "Enjoy the rest of your day. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Rachel drops her phone to hang at her side only when Quinn hangs up, and she and Santana just stare at each other in the ensuing silence.

"Is this why you're in such a shit mood?" Santana asks, waving a vague hand through the air.

"What's _your_ reason?" Rachel counters. "Or, is this just your natural state of being?"

Santana clenches her jaw tight, and Rachel doesn't dare look away from her face. "Have you really not seen the advert?"

"What advert?"

"Obviously not," Santana scoffs. "You're so self-absorbed."

Rachel sighs and pockets her phone. She's well aware that this is now one of those conversations she can walk away from. She's perfectly within her rights to do so, which is what she does.

Except, Santana says, "Wait," and Rachel does. "Fuck."

Rachel looks at her, somehow managing to read her facial expression. "It's to do with Brittany."

"Yes, and no."

Rachel waits, ever patient. "There was a campaign advert run against Coach. It's gone now, but it basically outed me, and Brittany, and my family saw it. My - my parents know. In fact, I'd say my entire family does." She drops her gaze. "Not all of them are happy with it. Or accepting. Or anything." She licks her lips. "My abuela - my _grandmother_ \- wants nothing to do with me. So, yeah, I'm in a fucking piss-poor mood."

Rachel has no idea what to say.

Santana clears her throat, looking as if she desperately wants to change the subject. "So, who were you talking to, anyway?"

And, if anyone were to ask her, Rachel would never be able to explain just what possesses her to say, "My girlfriend."

Santana's gaze snaps up, eyes wide.

Rachel doesn't shrink away.

But.

Well.

_Shit_.

* * *

**AN** : Just wanted to wish everyone a safe and happy holiday season while I'm here. Thank you all for reading, liking and commenting. Take care.


	13. Chapter 13

**XIII**

Kurt stares at her as if she's gone completely crazy when Rachel tells him she's skipping their planned post-Glee Lima Bean date to take Santana to her house, so they can talk.

It's not as if Rachel blames him, because she's been questioning her own sanity since the words _my girlfriend_ escaped her mouth. Like, what was she thinking? Santana Lopez is honestly the last person to whom you'd want to give that kind of ammunition.

Still, there's a part of her that doesn't really regret the confession. She and Santana have always had a complicated relationship, but Rachel has always got the feeling they might understand each other a lot more than they would initially think. It remains to be seen if Santana feels the same way, though.

The drive home is anxiety-inducing, and Rachel keeps glancing in her rearview mirror to make sure Santana is still following. She almost expects the cheerleader to bail at some point, so she's pleasantly surprised when Santana pulls in behind her in her driveway.

Well.

Here we go.

Rachel decides, from the get-go, that they aren't going up to her bedroom. There are too many pictures of her and Quinn littered around the room, and she's nowhere near ready to tell a girl who could be considered her arch-nemesis she's dating an internet-famous chef.

Instead, Rachel leads the way to the kitchen and busies herself with making them smoothies. She's learned, over the years, that Santana is a fan of them, and Santana looks suitably surprised when Rachel asks if she has any fruit preferences.

Rachel does her best not to look too smug.

For a while, they focus on preparing their smoothies, neither of them broaching any kind of heavy topic. It shouldn't be so easy to exist in the same space, and Rachel can't help marvelling over it.

Huh.

"There you go," Rachel says, setting a fresh glass in front of where Santana is sitting at the breakfast bar. The recipe is one of Quinn's, tweaked just a little to exclude the blueberries Santana claims not to enjoy.

"Thank you," Santana says, her voice quiet and a little distracted. "I - I don't even know why you're doing any of this."

Rachel shrugs. "When I figure it out; I'll be sure to let you know."

Santana looks amused for a moment, before she sighs and takes a tentative sip of her smoothie. Her eyes widen slightly, and she says, "Wow, that's actually really good."

"Try not to sound so surprised," Rachel deadpans.

Santana rolls her eyes, taking another sip. "I just - I guess I didn't expect you to - " she stops and waves a hand rather vaguely through the air. "Be good at kitchen stuff."

"Well, I think we've already established you know nothing about me," she says flatly.

Santana looks away.

Rachel clears her throat. "For what it's worth, I'm not that great in the kitchen. Not really. I like to give it a go, though. I've definitely improved since I met Quinn."

Santana nods, humming softly. "That must be wild, huh? Being friends with a famous person."

"She claims she's not that famous, but she really is," Rachel says, her affection for Quinn practically bleeding out of her. She thinks she should probably try to rein it in, but it can't be helped at this point.

"You're a fan," Santana observes.

Rachel nods once. "I am," she admits. "Are you?"

Santana purses her lips, seemingly thinking it over. "To be completely honest, I didn't know anything about her until people started giving you shit about it at the start of the year."

Rachel figured as much, but she doesn't voice that thought.

"Brittany knew all about her, though, which wasn't much of a surprise," Santana says, smiling ever so slightly at some memory. "She kind of took me down this rabbit hole of LatkesWithLucy, and, what do you know… the girl isn't half bad. Kind of hot, too."

Rachel does not bristle. No, she doesn't. But, _come on_ , doesn't Santana have eyes? Quinn is so much more than 'kind of' hot - especially when she's just about to -

Nope.

Not thinking about _that_ while in Santana's presence.

What she does say next is equally terrifying, though. "I agree." She waits for Santana to look at her. "She's kind of the reason I even realised I was gay."

Santana's eyes widen in surprise, as if she didn't expect Rachel actually to admit the words, out loud, right in front of her. It's terrifying, of course, for Rachel, to offer up this piece of herself, and so willingly.

"It was a while ago," Rachel clarifies, because Quinn is making waves about anything to do with the LGBTQ+ community only _now_. Her focus has been elsewhere at times, but her decision to take on some kind of mantle regarding representation has allowed her to plant her feet firmly on the ground and say _I'm here, and I have words to say_. "I've really managed to figure things out in the last year and a half, though." She pauses. "The breakup was kind of a blessing."

Santana winces, looking away. They've never really _talked_ about that time in their lives, and Rachel wonders if they're ever actually going to. She's not entirely sure she _wants_ to, if she's being honest, because she's managed to file it all away under Before Quinn, and that time just seems less important than everything that's happened After Quinn.

Rachel waits as patiently as she can manage, just allowing Santana to wrap her head around her own confession. It's opened the door, and now Santana just needs to step through.

It takes a few minutes, but she eventually does.

"It - it was just fun and games in the beginning," Santana explains. "A way to get _boys_ off. We would kiss for a while, put on a show, and then we would sleep with guys." She audibly swallows. "Then, I guess, we started leaving the boys out of it, and it felt - it was - " she stops, frowns, and then shakes her head. "It just felt different."

Rachel nods, as if she understands, even though she can't realistically say she _does_. She can only offer her knowledge of the kissing part, because she's never slept with a boy before, but even she knows that kissing can feel very different. (It helps that she's actually in love with Quinn, and that Quinn is certifiably a phenomenal kisser, so there's also that.)

"She's always been my best friend," Santana continues; "so, I mean, of course I would love her, right? That part was always going to be inevitable." She falls silent again, and Rachel watches her carefully, absently wondering if this is something Quinn encounters.

With that thought comes the moment Rachel thinks she understands Quinn's struggle that bit more: her constant battle within herself over how she's expected to help other LGBTQ+ teenagers when she can't say 'I can relate to what you're going through,' because she's not out. Just thinking about having this conversation without Santana _knowing_ is nightmarish, and Rachel doesn't think she would get _anywhere_ with Santana if it were different.

"I just - I guess I somehow managed to _fall_ in love without even realising it," Santana says, and she can't even look at Rachel. "I think, maybe, I could handle the physical side of it, because I'm sure I could, somehow, learn to go without." Her cheeks actually tint a little red at the admission. "But, actually falling in love with a girl… wow, _that's_ wild, isn't it?"

"It is," Rachel quietly agrees.

Santana looks at her, eyes a little nervous. It's not an expression Rachel has ever seen on her before, and it trips them both up. "C-Can I ask?" she says, and Rachel nods. Santana takes a breath. "How long has it been?"

"Since I've known I was gay, or since I've been in love with a girl?"

Santana swallows. "You can just say it, out loud," she says, a little wonder in her voice.

"I couldn't always," Rachel admits, her voice low. "I suspected for months before I could say it even just to myself, and I was already kind of gone on my girlfriend by the time I felt comfortable enough to come out to my parents."

Santana's eyebrows rise up. "But they're..." she trails off, the end of her sentence clear to hear for them both.

"Gay, I know," Rachel says with a slight roll of her eyes. "You'd think it would make it easier, and I won't say I was inherently scared they wouldn't... accept me. It's just that I know they were always worried about the potential backlash to our entire family if I ended up not-straight." She puffs out a breath. "I can't even tell you the number of times my parents have been accused of corrupting me with their sin. Like, seriously, it's not like it's contagious."

Santana raises her smoothie in solidarity, and then looks away guiltily, because she might have been one of those people back in freshman year.

Rachel acknowledges the moment, but she won't absolve the Latina of that past sin. Not without an apology, at least. She's come to accept she can expect more from people, and not just settle for scraps.

Gosh, she should really start figuring out what she's going to do for Quinn's birthday. And Christmas. Quinn deserves something massive and gigantic and heartfelt and all those wonderful things. Maybe Rachel will even get her to cry. Now, wouldn't that be an accomplishment?

But, first, she has to mend whatever seems to be amiss with their relationship at the moment.

"Doesn't it scare you?" Santana asks after a moment, bringing Rachel right back to the present.

"It terrifies me," she automatically says. "Why do you think I'm not publicly out?"

"Well, it's definitely not something I would recommend," Santana says sarcastically, and then sighs. "I just - I guess I finally understand what people are talking about when they talk about love the way they sometimes do. I've tried so hard to push those feelings away, and I've worked to keep them locked inside, but every day just feels like a struggle."

Rachel definitely understands that.

"It's not an excuse, I know, but I walk around so mad at the world," Santana continues, scowling even now; "but I'm really just fighting with myself, and I really don't want to be doing that anymore. I'm just so tired. As much as all this campaign ad stuff sucks, I can't help being a little relieved that it's finally just out there, which is - " she stops, looking a little stricken.

Rachel waits patiently.

"Are you close with your grandparents?"

Rachel shakes her head. "I've never met them," she says. "They were homophobes before I was even a concept. It's really just me and my fathers, and I like to think it's all that matters."

"But, it's not, is it?" Santana asks, almost rhetorically. "I was always close to my abuela; practically her favourite. I - I can't even describe how it feels knowing she - she wants nothing to do with me." She swallows audibly. "It's going to get worse when the rest of my family starts to fall in line."

"I thought you said your parents were... okay?"

"On the surface, probably," she says; "but it'll take its toll eventually. I'm not allowed to attend any family functions my abuela is at, and that's everything. The - the drama would just be too much. I don't - the last thing I ever wanted was to create some kind of division in my family, and I'm not about to entertain the idea my mother would choose me over her own mother."

Rachel blinks. "Why would you think that?"

Santana glances to the right, and then very quietly says, "You're not the only one with a mother capable of disappointing you."

Rachel puffs out a breath, thinking about Judy, and Judy alone. She also thinks about Quinn's grandparents, wondering how they're going to react to the news about Quinn. She's surprised it's not something they've actually talked about, because Quinn is quite close to them.

Well, her maternal grandparents, at least.

Her next conversation with Quinn is going to be littered with heavy topics. Light ones, too, she hopes, but she knows there's a lot to be discussed.

"Is there something in particular you're worried about?" Rachel asks, her voice low, because she's definitely not up to talking about anything to do with Shelby with anyone other than Quinn, at this point.

Santana sighs. "We - we haven't actually talked about any of it," she says. "I think my parents are kind of hoping it'll go away if they just ignore it."

Rachel wants to say something supportive, but she forces herself to remain silent.

"I'm graduating soon, anyway," Santana says. "I'll be out of the house and away from my family, and - " she stops. "Well, I don't know if I'll be welcomed back, once I'm gone."

"Where are you planning on going?"

"I've got some cheerleading scholarships lined up," she says, almost offhandedly. "Just have to make sure my academics don't end up a disaster, and I might actually be able to survive on my own, if ever if comes to that."

"Do you really think it will?"

"I just know I'll never really be allowed to be myself, or with whomever I end up loving, while I'm a part of my family." She sighs. "Nobody has to say the words to me, for me to figure out at least that much."

Rachel breathes out, having already gone through these worries with Quinn. She could offer platitudes and some kind of hope, but that isn't what Santana needs, and Rachel isn't about to become something inauthentic. She knows she's lucky to have such accepting parents, and she wouldn't even know what she would do if she didn't.

"I'm sorry," is what Rachel ends up saying, and it seems to catch Santana off guard.

She takes a steadying breath. "Yeah," she murmurs; "me too."

Rachel sips at her smoothie, suddenly knowing this is the end of their conversation. She can't say she's actually helped with anything or that they've accomplished anything worthwhile, but she feels better for it.

Beyond this, she thinks she too would be ready and willing to come out, just to help other young people in the community. Her stock isn't nearly as lucrative as Quinn's, but she's developed quite a following for herself.

Besides her singing videos every Saturday, she especially enjoys merely talking to her subscribers in her Wednesday ones, and she always gets the feeling those ones hit closer to home than the others.

She's talked about her bullying and how she's dealt with it and, after Quinn's video, she talked about dealing with homophobia via her parents. All things that are important to navigating life as a teenager, she thinks, but she can't be sure just how far-reaching her words have been.

"Thank you for this," Santana says after a moment.

Rachel just nods, casually sipping at her smoothie and offering a genuine smile.

"We're never talking about this ever again," Santana says, looking as serious as one possibly can with a smoothie moustache.

Rachel rolls her eyes, but she still says, "Sure, Santana."

* * *

Smoothing things over with Quinn is less dramatic than Rachel anticipates. It takes barely five minutes, both of them apologising and accepting and vowing not to push and to be more open with each other.

That's the easiest part, because Rachel thinks she might be ready to talk about Shelby now. Or parts of it, at least.

If Quinn has anything better to do, she doesn't mention it. She rather just sits and listens, her eyes focused as they peer at Rachel through her own laptop camera. She nods from time to time, making regular sounds of understanding, and Rachel _knows_ she's listening.

Quinn, who is so, so patient with her, fully present as they discuss the one topic Rachel knows they _could_ have discussed days ago, and managed to avoid all of this misunderstanding and strife. She feels guilty about it, but Quinn looks as if she's completely over it. She doesn't know how Quinn could possibly be.

When Rachel's finished her extended and complicated story, she feels the need to apologise again.

"Please don't," Quinn says, and her eyes are a little misty. "It's done. It's over. I just want to know if you're okay."

"I love you."

Quinn looks a little bemused for a moment, and then adorably pleased. "I love you too, Rachel Berry," she says in response. "Now, tell me if you're okay."

Rachel smiles, a little bemusedly. "I'm okay," she confirms, and she might actually believe it.

* * *

The next few days are some of the most stressful of Rachel's young life.

There are exams, rehearsals, her birthday and Sectionals all to get through, which she can't ever imagine emerging from without Quinn in her corner, offering remote support and an endless number of memes.

The last weekend before the start of their Winter Break is jam-packed. She barely has time to enjoy the relief of her last exam before she's sent into another whirlwind of last-minute rehearsals and trying to keep everyone from killing one another before they finally take the stage.

Rachel deserves a medal after all of this.

Or a Quinn.

She'll take the latter - all day, any day and every day.

What she gets, instead, is a _Twitter_ mention wishing her good luck and a privately recorded video message of her favourite blonde letting her know she'll be watching the performance through Hiram's _FaceTime_. It just didn't make any sense at all for them to risk having Quinn come out here for this.

Or her birthday.

That one stings, but Rachel is going to be seeing her in about a week, so she's willing to push through. It's a test of her patience, of course, but they perform their songs flawlessly, and eventually take the win with little fanfare. She had little doubt, of course, but it's still a relief to hear them call out, 'New Directions.'

The biggest shock, instead, occurs when Santana actually hugs her during their celebrations, and isn't that something? It's brief and a little awkward, and they both move on before it can turn really weird.

This is only the first step on their road to Nationals, sure, but it's a step they've now taken, and it's time to celebrate, apparently. She almost gets roped into throwing a celebratory party, but Santana claims the rights, instead, making a comment about how it's likely Rachel's parents won't allow them any booze.

Which, yeah, is probably accurate.

Still, Rachel has to attend, and what's most surprising is she actually _wants_ to. Kurt calls it _an impromptu birthday bash_ , and Brittany promises to save her a dance for later. For some reason, it makes her think of Quinn, and her heart aches for all the minutes between that moment and Kurt saying, "Come on, the Warblers just won their Sectionals, and they have much better food. We'll head to Santana's afterwards."

So, Kurt drives them, the two of them belting out song after song and actually allowing themselves to enjoy their victory and their youth. She's a day away from turning eighteen, and, while it would normally be a big deal, she's quite certain she's not going to feel any different in the morning than she does right now.

Except, maybe she'll have a hangover.

She kind of hopes, at least.

Blaine is still in his uniform when she and Kurt arrive at his house, the living room and kitchen already overrun with Warblers and other Dalton students. They're definitely hitting the sauce early.

In another world, she thinks she and Kurt might not be as welcomed as they are, but Warbler Max Shelton yells _Yo, Rachel_ when she enters the room, and Rachel accepts these are probably going to be the only boys she's going to like.

It helps that a lot of them have even met Quinn as 'Q,' at that infamous Halloween party, so she doesn't run the risk of any one of them actually hitting on her. They just talk to her as if she's anyone else interested in music and desperate to get out of this place.

Max even gets her a drink, and she lounges on the couch with him, Paul and Greg as they debate over the best players on the US Women's National Team.

Rachel can participate only because of Quinn's interest in the squad, and she can't help wondering just the type of person she would be if she'd never started talking to Quinn. Sure, there are parts of her she's still hiding, but she's never felt so true to whom she is than she does in this moment.

This is something Quinn has allowed her.

"Blaine showed us your _YouTube_ channel," Max says, sipping his beer as the two of them break off into a private conversation. "Do you ever collaborate?"

"Not usually," she says. "I've sung with Kurt before, but not many people are interested in that kind of thing."

"I know I'd be," Max says. "Greg, Paul, me and this other guy, Kevin, we have this little quartet called Stakeout, and we'd totally be interested in singing together."

"Really?" she asks, because that's just -

She's not even sure what.

Max grins. "I mean, you'd totally be helping us out, as well, you know?"

Rachel blinks. "Excuse me?"

"Because you're kind of famous or whatever. It'd be good exposure for all of us."

Rachel nods, unsure how she feels in this moment. Suddenly, she's not sold on Max's reasons for collaborating, but the idea still holds. It would be something interesting to try on her channel: including a quartet of male voices in a song. They're all artists at the end of the day; all trying to make a name for themselves.

Quinn helped get her started - even though she won't admit it - so this could just be Rachel paying it forward. And, frankly, Rachel doesn't think Max will just stop being nice to her after the video is posted. It might even turn out not to be a one-time thing.

"Sure," she says, and they spend the next hour somewhat drunkenly brainstorming potential song ideas and arrangements. She has a note going on her phone, her typing a little sloppy as Kurt makes her try some kind of fruity concoction.

Nothing really compares to the drinks she and Quinn tried in Rome, but it's not terrible. Probably a little too sweet for her, but she nurses it slowly, remaining seated on that couch and allowing the world to pass her by.

She has texts and notifications to go through, especially since her own posts to her social media accounts about winning Sectionals, and there's another _Twitter_ mention from Quinn that she still needs to respond to. Or at least Like.

Maybe just reply to her texts.

Either way, Quinn will probably appreciate the fact she's socialising right now. In the time since she and Kurt got here, more people have arrived, more _girls_ , from goodness only knows where, and, yeah, Rachel thoroughly enjoys the fact she now knows and accepts she's gay.

It doesn't make her as nervous as it once did being around all these new people, because now she knows exactly who she is. She's settled and happy and worthy.

She even gets introduced to Max's twin sister, Emily, who goes to Dalton's sister school, Crawford. _She sings, too_ , Max explains with a proud little grin. "Nowhere as good as you and me, though."

Emily rolls her eyes at him, and, if those same eyes linger on Rachel for a little too long; she pretends not to notice.

Oh.

Okay.

Well.

This is territory undiscovered for her. Quinn is usually the one people show interest in. Truly, Rachel hasn't ever truly interacted with any _girl_ who is actually interested in her whose name isn't Quinn.

It's very strange.

She barely even knows what to say or do when Emily casually asks if she'd like to go to the kitchen with her to get another drink. Rachel looks at Max for some help or a full-on rescue, but he's lost in conversation with Paul and a girl who was introduced as Paul's girlfriend, Stephanie.

"Oh, uh," she stutters, looking down into her cup, wishing it weren't so obviously empty. "Um, yeah, sure," she finally says. "I should probably stretch my legs, anyway."

Emily gets to her feet first, and then holds out her hand to help Rachel up. For some reason, this feels more dangerous than anything, but Rachel needs the aid to stand, her feet a little unsteady.

Emily's fingers linger a moment too long, and Rachel feels guilty for reasons she doesn't know. She hasn't actually done anything. She's done nothing.

And, yet, she knows this moment would hurt Quinn.

Would it?

It would hurt _her_ , if it were the other way around. She grows pensive as she follows behind Emily to the kitchen, dodging a few people and trying to figure out how to bring it into conversation that she's happily taken.

Emily kind of saves her from the trouble when she very blatantly says, "So, I might have asked you to come with me for purely selfish reasons," once they're in front of the drinks station.

Rachel blinks.

"I wanted to get you alone."

"Oh."

Emily turns her body to face her head-on, and Rachel is suddenly overwhelmed by her intensity. There's absolutely nothing left for interpretation here. "I don't think I've been subtle at all, and I'm pretty sure my gaydar isn't malfunctioning here."

Rachel literally has no idea what to say to that. Well, she does, but she's not willing to out herself to a complete stranger, even though this girl claims she's just figured it out herself.

"What makes you think that?" she asks, finding her voice.

Emily gives her a significant look. "Am I wrong?"

Rachel drops her gaze, frowning slightly. "What's _wrong_ is your assuming you can talk to me about my perceived sexuality in such a public place when you don't yet know my comfort levels."

Emily says nothing; just continues to stare at her with knowing eyes.

"And, I'm taken."

Emily reacts then, her shoulders slumping. "I figured you had to be," she says, looking a little put out. It takes a moment, but she recovers eventually, and actually smirks. "Does she know how lucky she is?"

Rachel hesitates, still unsure.

Emily must sense it, because she steps closer and smiles gently. "Not quite out, huh?"

"Not at all, no," she admits.

Emily smiles. "Well, I mean, it's whatever," she says. "Sometimes, you have to wear it like some beacon anyway, because, damn, flirting with girls can be so fucking hard."

Rachel laughs. "I wouldn't really know."

"You don't flirt?"

"Not really."

"How'd you land your girl?"

Rachel shrugs. "I honestly have no idea."

Emily shifts to stand beside her. "So, let's get some drinks, and then you can be my wingwoman while we try to find me a girl who's actually available and actually likes girls."

"Sounds deceptively difficult."

"God, you have no idea."

* * *

Emily hits some kind of jackpot only when members of the Warbler party have migrated to Santana's house to finish _her_ booze, once they've burned through all of Blaine's.

It's late enough in the evening that the McKinley students already filling Santana's house barely notice that the newest arrivals are from a different school. It's more than just Glee in attendance, anyway, and Rachel feels nervous for the first time when she sees the high number of jocks and cheerleaders lounging about.

Still, Emily slips her arm through hers, grounding her a little, and she directs them towards the kitchen.

Where they meet Santana pouring herself a pretty generous shot.

"I'll take one of those," Emily declares, grinning at the wealth of alcohol they find spread out on the kitchen island.

Santana seems to startle at the voice, her head snapping up. She looks from Emily to Rachel to Emily, and then to their linked arms. She grins. "Is this - "

"No," Rachel says, a little too loud. "Definitely not."

Santana's eyebrows rise with interest, and Rachel's left to wonder just how drunk she is.

"This is my new friend, Emily," Rachel explains. "Em, this is Santana. We're in her house right now."

Emily gives the Latina a rather significant once-over, and, yip, that's the end of Rachel's evening with Emily. "Hand me that shot," Emily says, her hip cocking to the side and her voice dropping rather sinfully.

As if she ever even needed a wingwoman. Damn.

Rachel just manages to escape before she suffocates from the sexual tension currently filling the room. Wow. Okay.

Suddenly, she's glad she managed to land Quinn without actually having to flirt with her - at least in person. She's convinced she would have failed epically, and then what? If they'd just met as two normal teenagers, Rachel's sure she would have been a disaster.

Emily asked if Quinn knew how lucky she was, but it's always been the other way around. _Rachel_ is the lucky one. The number of texts waiting for her merely proves it.

She has the sudden urge to talk to Quinn, and she's so tempted to find somewhere private to call her, but Brittany suddenly appears in front of her and says, "I promised you a dance."

Which is really how Rachel gets dragged onto the dance floor for one song and ends up staying for five. It's easy, surprisingly, and she finishes her drink between songs, her hips loosening with every sip.

There are random hands on those same hips, others on her shoulders, and arms around her waist. God, she misses Quinn.

So much.

Too much.

After the fifth song, her own melancholy has seeped in enough that she smiles at Brittany, and says she needs some fresh air. Brittany lets her go with an easy smile of her own, and Rachel goes out into the backyard, which is relatively empty, given the near freezing temperatures. Her fingers are numb within minutes, but she still manages to dial Quinn's number.

Quinn answers after six rings, sounding a little groggy as she says, "Rachel?"

"Hi, Baby."

Quinn shifts wherever she is - Rachel's brain distantly acknowledges she must be in her bed, because she sounds as if she's just woken. "Are you okay?"

"I'm perfect."

"Where are you?"

"At a party," she answers, giggling. "I'm making friends, Quinn."

Quinn chuckles softly. "That's great, Rach," she says. "I didn't think I'd get to speak to you today."

"You went to sleep."

"I went to sleep," Quinn confirms.

"I woke you up."

"I don't mind."

"I love you."

Quinn breathes out. "Do you know what time it is?"

Rachel pulls the phone away from her ear to look at the screen, squinting at the light. "It's midnight," she eventually says, pressing the phone back against the shell of her ear.

"It's midnight," Quinn echoes softly. "Happy birthday, my love."

Rachel sighs dreamily. "I wish you were here."

"I'm always with you," Quinn says. "You know that. Can't you feel me?"

"I'm feeling very tipsy."

Quinn laughs, and then sighs. "So, you're having fun, huh?"

"We won."

"I saw," Quinn lets her know. "You looked and sounded amazing. Not that I expected anything different. I'm so proud of you."

"I miss you."

"We'll be together before you know it," Quinn promises. "But, yeah, I miss you, too."

"Were you dreaming about me?"

"Probably."

Rachel's mouth spreads into a wide smile. "Naughty things?"

"Obviously."

"I can't wait to touch you," Rachel confesses.

Quinn laughs softly. "I sincerely hope you're alone right now, because this conversation could prove to be awkward for anyone around you."

"I'm alone," Rachel says miserably; "because you're not here."

"Hey, Drama," Quinn teases. "Stop talking to me and go enjoy your party. You're eighteen now, and you deserve to enjoy it."

"How can I enjoy anything when you're not here?"

Quinn sighs. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Enough."

"You're safe, though, right?"

Rachel nods.

"Rach?"

She giggles, because of course Quinn can't see her nodding. "I'm safe," she says. "Kurt's here. And Blaine and Max and Emily and Santana, which is so weird, but I think - "

"Who's Emily?"

"My new friend," Rachel says, a little proudly. "She's Max's twin sister. Remember Max? The Warbler. He was _Buzz Lightyear_ at Warbler Martin's house. Anyway, I met her earlier today, and I think I just set her up with Santana. They're probably bumping uglies as we speak."

Quinn laughs, loud and unexpected. "Wow," she says; "you _really_ have had a lot to drink."

" _We_ could be bumping uglies right now, if you were here," Rachel says. "Making sweet, tender love. Having all the crazy sex - "

"Oh, my God."

"Doing the nasty. Getting down and dirty - "

"Rachel, please stop."

She laughs, ready with even more euphemisms when a familiar voice says, "Rachel," behind her, and she sighs heavily. She turns around to see Finn standing there, hands deep in his pockets and a hopeful grin on his face.

Rachel sighs again.

Quinn says, "I didn't actually mean stop talking entirely."

"I was hoping we could talk," Finn says, as if he can't _see_ Rachel is on the phone. "I know things have been weird between us for a while, but I really think - "

"Baby," Rachel says, sudden and sharp, and both Quinn and Finn stop speaking.

"Rach?"

"I'm going to have to talk to you later, okay?"

"Uh, okay…?"

"There's something I need to do."

Quinn clears her throat. "Well, okay then," she says. "You do what you have to, and I will talk to you when the sun is shining and I'm not still somewhat half asleep."

"That sounds like a brilliant idea," Rachel tells Quinn.

"Goodnight, Broadway," Quinn says. "I love you."

Rachel breathes out slowly, steadying her beating heart. She's well aware of Finn watching her, and she feels so powerful when she says, "I love you, too."

Quinn hangs up first, and Rachel waits another beat before she drops her phone from her ear.

One breath.

Two.

She looks at Finn, and his eyes are a little wide in something she can only hope is finally, _finally_ realisation.

"From where I'm standing, Finn," she says; "we have absolutely nothing to talk about."

* * *

As predicted, Rachel wakes with a hangover.

And a gift box beside her on her bed where Quinn should be. She _knows_ it's from Quinn without even having to check, and she drops her head back onto her pillow and groans. She reaches blindly for her phone on her nightstand to check the time, squinting at the screen.

Just gone ten o'clock.

Wow.

Didn't she say she was never drinking again? She's pretty sure she said that. Definitely. So, why is her head throbbing, and, honestly, whose t-shirt is she wearing?

It takes another seven minutes to convince her body to cooperate enough to sit up, and then another two to open her eyes. One to dispel any lingering dizziness, and then another two to stretch out her limbs and reach some semblance of full wakefulness.

The gift box beside her is a little daunting, but she can probably guess what's inside. If it's from Quinn - which it definitely is - then Quinn has kept her promise. Not that Rachel expected anything different. Quinn has always managed to keep her promises.

Rachel almost doesn't want to open it, because it's just a confirmation that Quinn isn't actually here. She's not here, and Rachel really doesn't want to be turning eighteen without her. It's probably selfish of her, to want Quinn here for this milestone, but she can't help it.

She opens it, anyway, because she's certain there's already a text from Quinn asking about it. Her girlfriend is at least predictable _that way_. Surprising in so many others, but who's counting?

So, she lifts the box's lid to reveal the _Marc Jacobs_ jacket Quinn promised her on Black Friday. It's a bright yellow, verging on mustard, and the sight of it makes her a little teary, her fingers tracing a seam in the fabric.

God.

They still have months of this to get through.

With a sigh, she resettles against her pillows and finally checks her phone. Her first response is to Quinn, of course, and she snaps a sleepy picture of the jacket draped over her body to send to her, with the caption _the best hangover cure_.

Quinn is probably in church, so she moves on to Kurt's, which is a paragraph-long birthday message, something similar to what he's going to be writing in her birthday card. It's sweet and heartfelt, and her reply is a simple _this doesn't mean you're getting out of my birthday dinner_ , which she knows will make him laugh.

The real surprise comes from the texts she receives from Emily.

And Santana.

Rachel is a modern day matchmaker, apparently, because Emily says, _im so fuckin in luv_ , and Santana says, _oh my god, who the actual fuck is she?_

Rachel cringes a little, because, hello, capital letters exist. But, also, how on earth did she end up in the middle of this lady storm? God, is this what it's like to have actual friends?

This is turning into quite the December, isn't it?

* * *

As far as birthdays goes, it's not terrible.

Her fathers make her a special brunch, both of them greatly amused by the fact she squints through most of the meal - even after she takes some _Advil_ , at Quinn's insistence. She's lucky to have parents who aren't actually lecturing her on safe drinking habits - they did that already, some years ago - and now they somehow accept she has her head screwed on straight.

Hah.

Okay, maybe not so straight.

Not even a little bit.

Which is really expounded when Quinn, Noah, Kayla, Judy, Russell _and_ Frannie all make appearances in Quinn's Sunday tasting video, just to wish her happy birthday. Noah does it around a mouth of food, Kayla does a star-jump and jazz hands, and Quinn's family all lift their coffee cups to her, secret smiles on their faces.

And, then, Quinn blows her a kiss, says, "Wish you were here, Sweets," and _creates chaos_.

Of course she does.

Rachel has to leave her phone at home when they do eventually go for dinner to the fancier of the two restaurants that do decent vegan food in Lima. It's Quinn's recommendation, and Rachel trusts her in everything, particularly when it comes to food.

She knows her stuff, apparently.

At dinner, it's just her parents and Kurt. She might have invited Blaine, but ultimately decided against it. She just wants a night with the closest people in her life, and she really doesn't need the reminder that her partner isn't here when Kurt's is.

It's just a normal night, truly, the four of them chatting about the Berry family's upcoming trip over Winter Break, Kurt and Rachel's potential New York auditions and everyone's plans for the summer.

The summer Rachel intends to spend with Quinn. Wherever.

She tells her parents this, and they don't look all that surprised. She wonders if this is the moment they realise they've already lost her to the great big world. Today just marks the reality of it. She's eighteen. No longer a minor. Technically, they're no longer responsible for her, and isn't that a sobering thought?

"Are there any concrete plans?" Hiram asks.

"Not yet." Because the summer is still months away, and Rachel knows she's going to want to spend at least a week holed away with Quinn once they've both graduated and this forced separation is finally _over_.

Hiram gives her the softest look. "My little girl," he murmurs. "All grown up."

Rachel ducks her head, blushing. "Dad," she groans.

"Should we be expecting Quinn to ask us for our blessing?"

She buries her face in her hands. "Oh, my God."

Kurt laughs, thoroughly enjoying himself. "Mr B," he says. "If I've learned anything at all, I think you should be expecting Rachel to be the one doing the proposing."

Rachel gasps. "Will all of you please stop?"

Kurt pats her back. "We all know what this is really about, Rachel," he says. "This is actually your sendoff dinner, and the _U-Haul_ is waiting out back."

"Oh, my God."

LeRoy chuckles softly, sipping at his wine. "Well, Sweetheart, it might all prove a problem, seeing as you need to graduate high school first."

Rachel shakes her head in disbelief. "Et tu, Dr Berry?"

He actually winks at her.

"I can't believe you guys," she says, flushed to the roots of her hair. "I'm not marrying Quinn."

She receives three rather significant looks for her troubles, which draws a pout from her. And then a defeated sigh.

" _Yet_."

* * *

Rachel gets home to find an _even bigger_ flood of notifications on her phone, and she knows it has something to do with Quinn. _Everything_ is to do with Quinn, and her heart stutters when she sees Quinn has actually mentioned her in an _Instagram_ post.

Oh boy.

Here we go.

With shaky fingers, she opens the application, and clicks on the post, unsure what she's going to find. Quinn likes to do this, sometimes, just putting things out into the Universe without first warning her to expect some kind of reaction. It's not as if they don't speak about it - they really do, all the time - but a head's up would have been nice.

Quinn has chosen two pictures, both of them friendly enough to be completely innocent to unsuspecting eyes. Only Rachel knows the first one was taken after their first kiss, and the second has Quinn's hand tucked into the back pocket of Rachel's jeans, boldly squeezing her ass, with the Mediterranean Sea as their background.

But, truly, it's the accompanying words that really make Rachel more emotional than she's been all week.

 **lucyquinnfabray** _HAPPY BIRTHDAY,_ ** _rachelberry_** _! There is a lot I could say to you on your big day, but the best part about us it that you probably already know whatever words I could string together. Out of everybody in my life, you're probably the only person who truly GETS me, and I am so SO thankful for you. I know we haven't known each other all that long - though, it's started to feel as if I've known you my entire life - but you have become so very important to me. Something like my safety. I get to be exactly who I am when I'm with you, and that is EVERYTHING._

_Rachel Berry, you are so, so special, and I wouldn't change a single thing about you. I promise I'll tell you the words every single day you allow me to know you. I am so proud of the woman you're growing into; getting to watch you reach for and achieve all your dreams; knowing that the best is yet to come. I can't wait for you to get to New York next year, so we can FINALLY collaborate on that video people have been begging from us - trade you vegan pizza for an Ed Sheeran cover, huh?_

_I'm sorry I don't get to see you today, but I wish you the best, most amazing day, full of love and adoration and happiness. I'm banking on Misters Berry and_ **_kurthummel_ ** _to make you feel super special… at least until I can see you, and do it myself._

_Quinn_

After she's read it a second time, Rachel wipes at her eyes, her heart beating faster than it ever has when Quinn isn't physically with her. This particular message is… revealing. There isn't much to hide what it's really saying, and Rachel gets another clue that Quinn is essentially laying down the groundwork for her eventual coming-out.

Well.

Rachel is here for it, and she taps at her screen to leave a comment. Just something simple and true, to make sure Quinn knows she's seen it and she appreciates every word.

For all the world to see.

 **rachelberry** _I'm totally taking that trade! Thank you, Lucy Quinn_ ❤️

* * *

It's the night the ship name 'faberry' is born.

Of course.

* * *

Winter Break is spent in Aspen.

It's a family vacation, of sorts. Judy and Hiram plan the entire thing without giving anyone too many details, and Rachel just goes along for the ride, settled enough with the knowledge she's going to be seeing Quinn for an extended period of time. Share a room with her.

Do things.

Rachel isn't sure what to expect at first, if she's being honest. Her parents haven't actually _met_ Quinn's parents before, and she really needs them to get along. In person.

Simon is also going to be there with Frannie, which will be the first time he'll be around Quinn and Rachel after the blonde came out to him, and now he's going to be facing two homosexual relationships.

Well, if he doesn't survive this, then he'll never survive anything. It's best that Frannie figures it out early, Rachel thinks, which is why this joint holiday is going to be very important.

If all goes to plan, it'll be the first of many.

The thought has never scared her. Somehow, she and Quinn are making this long distance thing work, and they're already halfway through the year. It helps that they're both incredibly busy, and the moments Rachel really misses Quinn are when her brain and body are idle.

Just before sleep, mainly, moments after she's said goodnight to her blonde girlfriend over the phone.

So, this trip into the cold and snow is something Rachel is looking forward to. Sort of. In public, they'll still just be friends, because Quinn is recognisable in America.

Though, with all the extra layers they're going to be wearing, Rachel thinks they'll be able to get away with a lot. Hand-holding, staring lovingly at each other, whispering sweet nothings into the space between them, and all those lovely couple-y things they normally aren't afforded in this modern world, that hasn't really managed to go as far as they'd like you to think.

The lodge they're staying at is fancy. Obviously, it would be, if Judy Fabray had anything to do with picking it. They're staying in four separate rooms, spread along the same floor, and Rachel can only hope and pray she and Quinn don't end up sharing a wall with either of their families.

Rachel intends to devour her girlfriend every chance she gets. She's dreamed up all sorts of fantasies in the few weeks since they've seen each other, and Quinn is aware of only some of them.

Rachel thinks her blonde girlfriend is in for the shock of her life.

She waits, of course, to tell Quinn of her plans until said girl is with her, carefully unpacking her suitcase into the closet and drawers of their room like the princess she sometimes she pretends she isn't. Quinn arrived with her parents several hours after Rachel and her fathers, with Frannie and Simon expected only later tonight.

Rachel's already unpacked, and now she's just waiting. She hasn't seen Quinn in nearly a month and, really, that's far too long. Besides the heated kiss they shared upon first entering the room together, Rachel finds herself content just to watch her girlfriend. Take in the lines of her neck and back, the way her brow furrows as she concentrates.

She's just content.

But also a little impatient, because she's waiting for Quinn to find it.

It.

The item she's been so anxious about since it arrived in her possession. Even getting it was nerve-wracking, paying for it, getting it delivered, because, God, she was not about to go _out_ and buy one. (Even if Brittany vaguely made a reference to where she could get one, as if she could just tell Rachel was thinking about it.)

But, it's here, and Rachel even braved packing it in her suitcase, risking the chance of it being found at the airport. She suspects it was, anyway, but she's fine with that, as long as it wasn't by either of her fathers.

Now, she just needs Quinn to find it.

It takes another two minutes and nineteen seconds, and Rachel is practically vibrating where she's sitting on their shared bed and watching the muscles in Quinn's back with interest.

"Uh, Rach, what's this?" Quinn asks, keeping her back to Rachel.

Rachel bites the inside of her cheek to stop from laughing, because, _seriously, Quinn, you know exactly what that is._

"Is it yours?" Quinn asks, turning around with the item in her hand.

Rachel nods. "Technically, it's ours," she says. "A birthday present to myself, really."

Quinn passes it from one hand to the other. "And, you want us to use it?"

Rachel nods again. "I do, yes."

"While we're here?"

"Maybe, maybe not," she says. "It's just an... idea, Quinn. Only if you're comfortable with it."

"Are you sure you are?" Quinn asks, walking towards her and sitting on the edge of the bed, the item resting in her lap. "I mean, we've never really talked about this before."

Rachel waits, giving Quinn the time to work her mind around it.

Quinn licks her lips. "I'm not against it," she says. "I just - this isn't like an all the time kind of thing, is it? Because I quite enjoy what we have going on, and I hate to think you're somehow... dissatisfied."

Rachel blinks, and then surges forward, closing the space between them. "Quinn, no," she says, wrapping her arms around Quinn's neck and squeezing tightly. "Of course I'm not dissatisfied. That's absurd." She waits a beat. "I love you, and you make me so happy. This is just…" she trails off, unable to put into words just what she's feeling. "It's just something I'd like to try. With you. If you're willing."

Quinn breathes out. "Can I think about it?"

"Of course," Rachel says immediately, pulling back just far enough to be able to look at Quinn's face. "I'm perfectly happy whatever you decide," she says. "I've just missed you so much."

Quinn kisses her softly, and then takes a quick look at the clock on the nightstand. "Well, we have a bit of time to kill before dinner," she says, her tone of voice laced with suggestion.

Rachel can't help her smile, and she actually shrieks when Quinn knocks her onto her back, the item forgotten as it slips to the floor and lands with a soft thud. Quinn settles over Rachel's body, resting her weight in all the delicious places.

"I have a question," Quinn says, pausing before her mouth meets Rachel's.

"What?" Rachel asks, her fingers threading through Quinn's hair. It's grown quite considerably since Frannie cut it in Istanbul.

"Why is it pink?"

And, of all the questions Rachel was expecting, that definitely wasn't one of them. She lets out a laugh, spreading her legs that bit more to accommodate Quinn better. "They didn't have a red one."

"Why would you even need a red one?"

"It reminds me of you," Rachel tells her, shrugging as best she can pressed against the mattress. "I don't know why, but red is just the colour I associate with you."

"Is it because I constantly have heart eyes when I'm looking at you?"

Rachel smiles, happily and dreamily. "Probably," she says, and then drags Quinn down for a deep kiss.

At some point in the following hour and a half, the red she sees turns into black, and she's forced to endure Quinn's smugness at working her to such levels of pleasure that she passes out.

" _Again_ ," Quinn reminds her as they're leaving their room for dinner with their families after Rachel's impromptu nap. "Like, come on, you have to admit I have a certain skill."

Rachel says nothing as they walk side by side, their shoulders brushing.

"I know you're thinking it," Quinn says, huffing adorably. "Just admit it. We all know the truth of it."

Rachel just links their fingers together, quietly marvelling at the fact they're getting to do this. She really can't even explain how much she's missed Quinn. What's worse is she's hit all sorts of milestones, and Quinn wasn't there.

But, she's here now, and she's pouting in that way that shouldn't be at all endearing. It's so stupidly cute, and Rachel just has to kiss her cheek once, twice and then force herself to pull away.

"Okay," she murmurs. "You're a total sex god. A fiend, basically. I bow to your sexual prowess."

Quinn laughs, her head tilted back, looking happier and lighter than Rachel remembers her being. "That's more like it."

* * *

Simon is a disaster.

If it weren't all so sad, Rachel's sure she would be laughing hysterically. But, alas, it's all just so terribly sad, and Frannie keeps sending her, Quinn, Hiram and LeRoy apologetic looks, wincing and cringing every time he opens his mouth.

It's worse because it's obvious he's trying. He's done research, and he's trying so hard to understand, but he's just not... delicate about it.

It really reaches its limit when he makes the mistake of asking about gender roles in their relationships, and Russell slaps a hand on the table, bringing all conversation to a halt.

He looks innocent enough when everyone looks at him. "I think I'm going to have dessert," he says. "Anyone willing to join me?"

Quinn breathes out in relief, and Frannie leans over to kiss his cheek. Rachel keeps hold of Quinn's hand under the table, and Judy smiles softly at the young couple.

Simon, obviously, has a very long way to go, but Rachel has hope he'll get there. He just needs some time. His willingness to understand is really half the battle.

It's what she tells Frannie, anyway, when she makes a point to apologise to Rachel after dinner. Rachel wants to tell her she shouldn't have to make excuses for him, but she kind of wants her girlfriend's sister to stay liking her. His ignorance isn't Frannie's fault, and, despite the fact Rachel doesn't say the words out loud, she's convinced Frannie still hears them.

It helps that Quinn has no such hesitancy. "Seriously, Fran, we all know you're not the one who should be apologising." Her arm is around Rachel's waist, and Rachel keeps Quinn's hand pressed against her side with her own hand, their fingers intertwined.

Frannie glances nervously over her shoulder, as if she expects Simon to pop up out of nowhere. "I'll talk to him," she says quietly. "He - he was just so nervous, and I think it manifested... like... that."

Quinn nods in understanding. "You have to make sure you inform him just what was so... wrong about his behaviour, okay?"

"I will."

Quinn slips away from Rachel to give Frannie a tight hug. "It's going to be okay, Fran," she whispers into her sister's ear. "I promise everything is going to work itself out." She pauses. "You won't have to choose."

Frannie sucks in a sharp breath, absently wondering when Quinn became the big sister. She just hugs the teenager tighter, trying to convey some kind of meaning with just her actions. Gratitude, maybe.

When Quinn eventually releases her, Frannie cups her cheeks and smiles a little sadly. "I hope you already know there wouldn't ever even have to be a choice to make," she says softly, her voice heavy with emotion. "It'll never even be a choice, do you hear me? Nothing to ponder or consider. You're my sister, Lucy, and I love you, even when you turn into a gay disaster."

Quinn huffs. "When have I ever been a g - " she stops abruptly at Frannie's pointed look. "Okay, fine, I can be a bit of a gay disaster sometimes."

"As long as you've acknowledged it."

"You've given me no choice."

Frannie tilts Quinn's head down - when did her baby sister get so tall? - and presses a kiss to her forehead. "Don't forget, okay?"

"I won't," Quinn vows.

"I'm going to head to bed now," she says. "Make sure Simon hasn't raided the mini-bar."

"He's a fun drunk."

Frannie laughs. "He really is, isn't he?"

" _My_ partner gets handsy when she drinks, so I can't really say who wins here," Quinn teases, and Rachel pinches her side as Frannie's laughter bubbles out of her.

"She doesn't know what she's talking about," Rachel accuses, which makes both sisters laugh that bit harder.

"Goodnight, you two," Frannie eventually says, and then she's turning and walking away.

Quinn reaches for Rachel's hand and starts them towards their own room. She's humming to herself, looking and feeling so relaxed.

"You're happy, aren't you?" Rachel asks, because that's what she gets from Quinn's current demeanour.

Quinn nods, just once. "The happiest."

* * *

Quinn brings it up late at night, under darkness, when they're wrapped around each other and under several blankets.

"I want to."

Rachel hums, already half-asleep. "What?"

"Use it," she explains. "The strap-on."

And, suddenly, Rachel is very awake. "Really?"

"I kind of had this... plan for your birthday present," Quinn says, and she's very relieved the dark of the night is hiding the way she's blushing. "I think I can work it in."

Rachel giggles. "I'm sure I could make some kind of dirty joke with that."

"Please don't."

"What's this birthday present?"

"It's a surprise," Quinn answers, just knowing the evasion is going to irritate Rachel to no end. "I think you're going to like it."

"What is it?"

Quinn says nothing.

Rachel slides a hand along Quinn's abdomen, her fingers slipping under the fabric of her t-shirt. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me?" she asks, trying and failing to sound innocent.

"Yip."

"I could convince you."

"You could try."

Rachel's fingers trail upward, skimming over the hard muscles Quinn works so hard to maintain, and creeping up her ribs. "I'm pretty sure you would sing like a canary, if I - " she stops abruptly.

Quinn's breath catches. "If you what?"

Rachel taps her fingers on pale skin. "Hmm, I don't know," she muses. "It just seems unfair that you would get something and I get nothing in return."

Quinn laughs softly. "Again, you do realise that's not how relationships work, right?" She pauses, her expression shifting into something serious. "I don't know how it worked when you were with Jesse or Finn, but that's never going to be a thing with me, okay? I don't do things for you - or to you - in order to get something back. I hope you know that."

Rachel props herself up on her elbow so she can look at Quinn's face in the little light of the room. "I do know that," she says quietly. "I know exactly how wholly you love me, Quinn. Even when we're not together, you prove it to me every day. I - I know I'm safe with you."

"As long as you know," Quinn murmurs, her voice trembling slightly.

Rachel leans forward to kiss the corner of her mouth. "I do," she says. "Now, can we please leave behind all this profound talk, so I can tempt you with sexual favours?"

Quinn laughs, this breathy sound that makes Rachel lean forward again and kiss her mouth properly this time. Rachel holds the kiss for long, long seconds, smiling to herself when Quinn opens her mouth to draw her in deeper.

But, no.

Rachel pulls back quite suddenly, and Quinn groans in disappointment. "Tell me what my present is."

Quinn sighs loudly. "Rachel, please," she says.

"Tell me."

"What do you _think_ it is?"

"It could be anything," she says, pouting. "But, I'm guessing, if you're thinking of adding the strap-on to what you already have planned, then it's something probably not for public viewing."

"God no," Quinn laughs. "Wow."

Rachel kisses her again, carefully rolling onto her and settling against her. "Tell me," she whispers.

Quinn's hands slide along her back, sneaking under her shirt. "No," she says. "I want to see how patient you are."

As it turns out, she's not very much.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN** : Wow, okay, this one is probably, definitely NSFW.

* * *

**XIV**

A happy, relaxed Quinn is someone a little foreign to Rachel. She caught glimpses of her while they were in Italy, definitely, but there's something decidedly different about a Quinn Fabray on American soil, whose every word carries a lightness and airiness to it.

Quinn almost floats, which is such a ridiculous thought to have in the middle of a snow lodge, but Rachel can't help it. Especially when Quinn is mostly dressed like an oversized marshmallow, and Rachel loves her.

 _Loves_ her.

If Rachel thought Quinn couldn't get any more adorable, she's mistaken. Happy-Quinn is one thing to behold, sure, but a Christmas-Quinn is something out of this world. She just can't seem to stop smiling, always in motion. She teases her father, frustrates her mother, niggles at Frannie and Simon, and charms Rachel's fathers.

As for Rachel, well, all Quinn really needs to do is breathe, and Rachel is lost and dazed and so dangerously smitten.

Quinn is also a lot more active on her social media during this trip. Rachel witnessed some of it during their time in Italy, but Quinn is a lot more open about the food she's eating and all the activities she's doing. She's very careful about what she shares, though, making sure all her content includes only her own family, and perhaps a shot of Simon's legs.

Rachel, in turn, has chosen to go dark. It's no great loss, she doesn't think, but she does rack up a number of notifications that makes her nervous that people have figured out the 'Super exciting holiday' she told her followers she was going on is actually _with_ Quinn.

Gosh, having a famous girlfriend can be a little stressful.

Still totally worth it.

* * *

Quinn takes her skiing inhumanely early on Christmas morning. Well, Quinn takes her onto the slopes, surprising Rachel when they take no actual equipment with them.

It's just the two of them, earlier than everyone else in their party, because Quinn claims she wants to watch the sunrise with just Rachel. It's a cute idea - romantic, too - except for the fact it's pitch black outside and Rachel's certain she can't feel her toes.

But, Quinn kisses her in the dark, arms wrapped tightly around her as they stand and watch the light start to peek over the mountains. It's both easy and not, the two of them being these people and living these lives. There's something so terrifying about their upcoming future, but Rachel wouldn't want to face it alongside anyone else.

This moment makes Rachel feel so small, standing here with all these slopes surrounding them, hiding them and allowing them this time together. Just to _be_. Just to figure out their lives without the great big world bearing down on them.

And, yet, she also feels big, in some way. With Quinn. Those arms around her; that breath against her skin. She feels larger than life, unstoppable in a haunting way.

"I love you," Quinn says, and Rachel has always believed her. Then she says, "Next year," and that's an entire other conversation.

Rachel already knows what she's really saying without her having to explain. Quinn wants to come out. It's as if she's vibrating with it; doing everything she can to give herself away without actually saying _I'm gay_.

"When?" Rachel asks.

"After graduation," Quinn says, which eases some of Rachel's anxiety. She doesn't want to have to deal with the potential fallout of Quinn's admission in her own school. Regardless of whether her own name gets dragged into it, there's a big possibility a lot of questions will be directed at her, merely because of their perceived friendship.

Quinn grows very still, her breathing slowing. "I - I don't have to," she whispers. "If you don't want me to, I won't. If you're worried, I won't. I just - I know what I say won't have anything to do with you, but it also has everything to do with you at the same time."

Rachel turns in her arms, needing to see her face. "I love you, Quinn," she says, and she can only hope Quinn has always believed her, as well. "I would never ask you not to do this, if you feel as if it's your time."

Quinn clenches her jaw, looking away. "I need you to know I wouldn't, if you asked."

"I know, baby."

Quinn sighs, and it feels heavy. "We still have a long way to go," she says. "Will you tell me if you change your mind?"

Rachel nods, and then very carefully asks, "Is this something you're determined to do alone?"

Quinn blinks. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, would you be against the idea of my doing it _with_ you?"

Quinn's eyes widen, as if she never even considered Rachel would want to get involved in whatever shitstorm her coming out could create. As if it's been her number one desire to protect Rachel from everything that comes with being involved with her. As if her every plan has been to make sure Rachel is as comfortable as possible, and that means keeping her out of everything that could potentially hurt her.

God, Rachel never even knew a love like this could exist.

"Doing what, exactly?" Quinn asks, her tone careful. Like she won't allow herself to believe what she thinks Rachel is saying.

"Come out, Quinn," she says, her tone firm. "We don't have to, obviously, but I've been thinking about it as well, and - "

"Do you know we have a ship name?" Quinn suddenly asks.

"A what?"

"A portmanteau," she explains. "An amalgamation of our names."

Rachel tilts her head to the side. "Your fans… ship us… together?"

Quinn nods, smiling slightly. "I mean, I could do a lot worse, right?"

"Is that really what you want to be saying right now?"

Quinn's smile grows into a grin. "If you ask me, I totally hit the jackpot."

"I'm not asking you."

Quinn kisses her softly. "We still have time," she says, soft and purposeful. "After graduation, if you're still willing, then of course I want you with me. God, Rach, I never want to do anything without you ever again."

Rachel lifts herself up to kiss her, deeply. "And, if I have anything to say about it; you never will again."

* * *

This Christmas is considerably different to the previous year's, in that they're actually celebrating it.

Just like that, Rachel is sucked into every single Fabray tradition, welcomed along with her fathers and made an honorary family member, every one of them smiling with affection. Even Russell gives her a bear hug when they all finally meet up for brunch.

They have a dinner planned for the evening, though Quinn is very hush hush about those particular plans. Rachel asks, of course, but Quinn answers with a sneaky little smile and kisses her cheek.

The day, itself, is wonderfully lazy. The lodge is bustling, though, and the slopes are packed, and Rachel wishes they wouldn't brave the crowds right until the moment Quinn says, "We're going to a soup kitchen."

It's all just another opportunity to observe Quinn in her element and marvel at the sheer idea she can fall even more in love with her. Her heart is an endless pit, apparently, and Quinn has claimed every available space without even having to try.

Quinn makes an entire day of it, making sure all of them participate. The woman in charge of the kitchen seems to know exactly who Quinn is, gushing over her the way any internet sensation deserves.

Of course, Quinn is a blushing, awkward teenager about the entire thing, even if she's beyond professional and so, so willing to help in any way she's needed. Rachel can only gawk at the way Quinn legitimately rolls up the sleeves of her button-down, revealing those gorgeous forearms Rachel loves to much.

How?

Just, how does someone like her even exist? Rachel would probably claim it's not actually fair to the rest of the world, if Quinn wasn't her girlfriend. But she is, and Rachel is _so_ glad for it. Relieved, really, that _she's_ managed to catch and actually hold Quinn's attention and affection. It still amazes her, and she's kind of hoping there's never a day it stops.

They easily slot into assigned posts, some of them cooking and others serving the food. It's wonderful and chaotic, but every second is worth it, and it is something out of this world actually getting to _witness_ Quinn use her particular status to make some kind of difference in the food community.

She just does it so well, and it's obviously a passion of hers, and Rachel is so glad the rest of the world gets to know this side of her. She's literally a walking role model, and she barely has to try.

In fact, Rachel has to be the one to snap pictures of her at work, shooting videos of her interacting with some of the patrons and generally being the super cool, genuine human being she's trying to inspire the rest of the world to be.

There is just something about her that oozes the best qualities a person can have, and, if Rachel is biased - she probably is - there is probably nothing about Quinn that could be considered any kind of dealbreaker.

At least, not for her, and she's trying not to care too much about what the rest of the world thinks. Though, even she can't control the proud, egotistical side of her that already wishes the world knew Quinn is _hers_.

Graduation can't come quickly enough.

* * *

Quinn disappears with a mischievous little smile after they've served lunch and cleaned up, leaving Rachel to wonder endlessly and bug her parents about it.

It's a few hours she spends with the two of them, almost parallel to the Fabray parents, while Frannie and Simon go off to do their own thing for a while - Frannie mentions something about a _Skype_ call to Simon's family, and she looks so over it, already.

Rachel can't help wondering what she'll do if she ever meets Scott. She would probably like to punch him, but she's not a violent person. Quinn wouldn't, of course, because _her hands_ , so maybe Rachel can convince Noah to take one for the team.

It's only after Rachel's braved the stores for some paraphernalia for Kurt and Blaine and caught an afternoon nap that she gets any indication about where and what they're going to be doing for dinner. Quinn just sends a simple text, telling her to get dressed and meet the rest of the family in the lobby.

She does, and she's pleasantly surprised to see everyone has actually dressed up for whatever Quinn has in store for them. Her sneaky girlfriend has been rather secretive about the entire thing, and Rachel is eager to find out all the things Quinn has had planned for their trip to the snow.

It's something big, apparently, and Rachel actually stops breathing when one of the lodge's employees comes to get them and leads them into what Rachel learns is a private room that's been completely decked out for the occasion.

And Quinn, she's just standing there, hands calmly clasped in front of her, wearing this gorgeous red dress and a happy little smile to match. The room is dimly lit with strung fairy lights and plastic ivy. There's a tree in the corner, and a long rectangular table is set out perfectly for all of them, Christmas crackers laid across their plates.

Rachel can't resist the urge to run to her, and she rushes across the room to throw her arms around Quinn's neck, hugging her so tightly that Quinn actually squeaks. It's just that Rachel has missed her the past few hours, and this room is just perfect.

"Merry Christmas," Rachel whispers into her ear.

Quinn's hands slide over her back, drawing her closer, and Rachel wonders if this is what heaven feels like. If not, it's pretty damn close.

Rachel finally releases her, stepping back with a dark flush to her cheeks. Quinn keeps hold of her hand as she turns her attention to everyone else. There's something so stupidly cute about her own embarrassment, her shoulders lifting in a helpless shrug as she says, "Figured you'd all be hungry," a little sheepishly.

Rachel kisses her cheek and says, "You're amazing."

And, the thing is, it's not even an inaccurate statement. Quinn has truly gone above and beyond for them, having prepared quite the feast - with many, many vegan options - and creating this space where they get to celebrate properly. And together.

There are also presents under the tree, which merely gets more populated when everyone else makes sure to fetch their own gifts to add to the pile, all to be opened after they've eaten.

Quinn is honestly the most excited of all of them, which is the most adorable thing Rachel has ever seen. She can barely sit still, her eyes darting about as everyone tastes the food she managed to convince the kitchen to let her help prepare.

It's Quinn's favourite part of cooking: having people taste her food and seeing their reactions.

In turn, Rachel watches her closely, mind blown that this cute little bouncing bean is also the same fierce chef who works as part of a brigade, _and_ the same girl who uses every opportunity she can to turn her into a blubbering, post-coital mess with dirty, dirty words and a dangerous tongue.

She hopes there isn't a day that Quinn doesn't surprise her.

She just hopes.

For lots of things.

And she gets at least one of those things when Quinn eventually gets around to opening the present Rachel spent _so long_ trying to figure out. And, based on the ridiculous smile on Quinn's face, she's pretty sure she did a decent job.

At least, well, this present is safe for public viewing, and Rachel explains that they're something called _Foodie Dice_.

Quinn turns them over in her hands, studying all five and their six respective faces.

"Each one has different proteins, grains, herbs, seasonal veggies, and cooking methods, and then you roll each one and make a dish out of whatever you get. A way to spice it up, sometimes."

Quinn grins at her. "My own version of _Chopped_ , huh?"

Rachel nods, smiling. "Something like that."

"Thank you," she says sincerely, leaning over to kiss Rachel's cheek. "I love them."

"I love _you_."

Quinn hands her a present of her own, looking a little sheepish. "This is just part of what I have planned," she confesses, and Rachel unwraps her gift to reveal a set of custom pyjamas, baby yellow in colour, with lots of variations of Quinn's name written in different fonts as the print.

 _Lucy, Quinn, Fabray, Lover, Forever Friend, Chef Extraordinaire, Future Wife_ , and many more.

Rachel holds the flannel to her chest, smiling so widely and blushing.

Quinn is equally red. "Just so, you know, you can always have me with you, even when I'm hundreds of miles away."

"I love them," Rachel declares, and she means it. "I'll wear them tonight."

Quinn gives her a rather significant look that basically says, _we both know you're wearing no clothes tonight_ , and yeah, well, she's not wrong.

* * *

The days between Christmas and New Year's are slow and lazy, filled with way too much sleep, endless cuddles, an abundance of delicious food, ridiculous conversation and the kind of sex that leaves Rachel's entire body just _aching_.

Everything feels like a dream, and she knows she's been transported back to the surreality she felt when they were in Italy. This isn't normal, right? It won't always be like this. It _can't_ realistically be, though she'll take it with zero complaints.

If it's even possible - it is, apparently - Quinn gets even _more_ hyped for New Year's. She very obviously has something rather particular planned for their night, and she's having far too much fun teasing Rachel to within an inch of her life.

Well, it definitely feels like it.

She _could_ be dying, for all she knows, because Quinn is entirely too good at getting her worked up, and then just not delivering. And in public, no less. She's pure evil, sometimes, but so damn wonderful.

Quinn is just very good at this part, and it's different to the way it was in Italy. Her focus isn't food, even though it still is. Her focus is Rachel, and her family, and just being present. The difference is so jarring in a way Rachel can only wonder if it's always going to be this way.

So she asks.

Quinn startles a little at the question, looking up from her phone and raising her eyebrows. "I don't understand."

"This isn't a food trip, is it?" Rachel questions, rolling onto her side and tucking her knees into her body, absently pressing them into Quinn's side as they lie in bed.

"I'm still not following."

Rachel sighs. "We're not here for food," she explains. "It's not the same as in Italy."

Quinn takes a moment to figure out what she's saying, and she sets her phone aside when she does. It's a slow realisation, and she turns her body to face Rachel fully, Rachel's knees now pressed to her abdomen. Some kind of barrier between them.

"It's not something I can realistically just switch off," Quinn says softly, tucking her own hands between the side of her head and her pillow. "But, I suppose you're right. The focus of this trip has very little to do with food."

"But there will be others where the focus will be?"

"Rachel, I hope you believe me when I say _you_ will always be my number one priority," she says. "But, yes, there will be trips I take where my sole purpose will be to better my culinary skills. I'll make sure to be more transparent about it in the future."

Rachel reaches out to cup her cheek. "I _love_ how passionate you are," she murmurs. "It's one of the sexiest things about you."

Quinn grins at her. "Sexiest, huh?"

"This might come as a shock to you, Lucy Quinn Fabray, but I find you incredibly attractive," she whispers. "It's a problem."

"Is it, really?"

Rachel hums. "It is, when there are so many miles between us."

"Fucking long distance," Quinn mutters.

Rachel's smile grows, and she straightens her legs, suddenly wanting to be closer to Quinn. She shifts into the curve of Quinn's body, tucking herself against Quinn's warmth and breathing into the crook of her neck.

Quinn nuzzles her hair. "I know it sucks," she says, sounding a bit uncertain; "but we're making it work, right?"

Rachel wants to lift her head to look at her, but she resists. Instead, she kisses the skin of Quinn's neck and says, "We're making it work."

Quinn sighs, almost relieved. "It's both easier and harder than I thought it would be," she admits. "Like, being physically apart from you aches like you wouldn't believe, but there's also this entire different dimension to our relationship that can only develop through other forms of contact." She turns her head slightly and presses her lips to Rachel's palm. "Without actually getting to _see_ you, I've had to figure you out through text and the sound of your voice, and, now, I can probably tell what sort of mood you're in just from the language you use or the tone you speak in."

Rachel is very intrigued to learn more about that. "How so?" she asks, her tone curious.

Quinn smiles against her soft skin. "Well, you default to calling your dads 'my parents,' for obvious reasons, but I can always tell when you're happiest because you say 'my dads.'"

Now, okay, that's definitely news to Rachel.

"You also stop using emojis when you're irritated," Quinn points out. "You're too polite to be explicit about anything, but, all of a sudden, it's as if you've discovered the period exists, and I know something has pissed you off."

Rachel gently pinches her cheek, and Quinn smiles.

"When you're especially missing me, you send me random memes," Quinn continues. "And, when you think you're being too clingy or when you convince yourself you'll be bothering me, you reply to one of my tweets or comment on one of my posts, just so I'll see and then text you first."

Rachel flushes crimson at the sound of that, closing her eyes as if she can avoid her own embarrassment.

Quinn bites softly at the soft skin at the base of her thumb. "It's cute."

"Shut up."

"I love you."

Rachel opens her eyes to find Quinn looking at her with eyes that are so deeply affectionate and soulful. She's looking at Rachel as if she's not real, and Rachel is convinced she's looking back at her in exactly the same way.

Quinn's mouth stretches into a wider smile. "Also, and I hope you're listening closely, but I can _always_ tell when you're turned on," she says, and Rachel's jaw drops in surprise - _and_ returning embarrassment. "Your voice gets all breathy, and there's a certain sloppiness to your normally-perfect vocabulary, and, God, the way you say my name, over and over and - "

Rachel shuts her up by kissing her, hard and fast and with clear intent.

From what she does next, it's pretty obvious to them both just how turned on Rachel currently is.

* * *

Quinn breathes, "The next time we have sex will be next year," right into Rachel's ear the moment they step onto the dance floor of one of the lodge's New Year's Eve parties.

Rachel sucks in a sharp breath, Quinn's hands already on her hips and Quinn's front pressed against her back, as they find a spot in the crowd and move to the music. Her heart was already pounding before the sound of those words, but it's positively erratic now.

They're lost in a sea of people, hidden under darkness, and Rachel reaches up and around to hold onto the back of Quinn's neck. "Well," Rachel murmurs, turning her head to speak into Quinn's ear, this time. "Some might say what we're doing right now is decidedly sexual."

And, it is. The way they're grinding against each other is positively sinful, and Quinn's grip on her hips actually hurts enough that she can't control her gasps with every beat of the music. Her fingers slide into Quinn's hair, gripping the strands and tilting her head until they're kissing, and moving together, and Rachel is suddenly certain she could get off right here if she were any more of an exhibitionist.

Quinn must sense they're both so close to losing control because she breaks the kiss and eases on her grip. "We should, uh - some fresh air?"

Rachel nods, her body suddenly overheated, and then slips her hand into Quinn's when the blonde leads them back off the dance floor. It's the third one they've been on tonight. The lodge is hosting at least three parties, one specifically for minors - they started there - another for yuppies - which was pretty lame - and then this one for the _adult_ adults.

Rachel's just relieved they haven't run into any of their parents.

And, really, the second that thought runs through her mind is the moment they bump into Frannie and Simon on the balcony. She curses under her breath, and almost turns right around, but the older couple sees them, and Rachel just wants to hide.

"Well well well," Frannie says, looking delighted to see them. "Do my eyes deceive me, or do I see my little sister and her oh so little girlfriend in the _adults'_ party?"

Quinn rolls her eyes. "We came for the alcohol, but they wouldn't give us any."

Frannie laughs. "Where's your fake ID?"

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure, you don't."

Simon looks a little awkward as he stands there, arm casually holding Frannie's waist. "We have a bottle of champagne," he says. "I'm sure a single toast to the new year wouldn't hurt."

Frannie turns to look at him, her eyes a little wide, but she's smiling. "Willing to part with your booze?"

"Of course," he says, smiling back at her, and Rachel thinks this might be the actual moment he's won her over. He so obviously loves Frannie, and, wow, has the man been trying. He's definitely improved since their first night, and the guy isn't so terrible. Frannie isn't an idiot, and she definitely wouldn't be wasting her time with one.

Rachel's still going to cause his idiot brother bodily harm, though.

"So, how was the kiddies' party, anyway?" Frannie asks.

"They had karaoke," Rachel answers, moving closer to Quinn and soaking up some of her warmth. "But Quinn refused to go up with me."

"It would have ended up on _some_ crazy fan site," Frannie says, laughing. "Can you imagine?"

Rachel _can_ , but she still wishes she could have had that experience with Quinn.

She wishes a lot of things, and one of those comes true when Quinn kisses her, right on that balcony, when the countdown reaches zero and the sky explodes with bright lights.

Her eyes are closed as they kiss, but she still sees fireworks.

* * *

They stick around for only a few minutes more, toasting to the new year with Simon and Frannie, before Quinn is tugging on her sweater with the intention of getting them out of there and behind a locked door as soon as possible.

Quinn rushes through a goodbye to her sister, and Simon surprises them all by handing Quinn a bottle of some kind of alcohol.

He shrugs when Quinn stares blankly at him. "What?" he asks, all innocent.

Quinn's mouth spreads into a grin, and she even gives him a kiss to his cheek before she's ushering Rachel off the balcony with purpose. Just the way Quinn seems so eager has Rachel's blood already singing, and she's suddenly _sure_ this is going to be a night she never forgets.

Which is a sentiment that is amplified when they _finally_ manage to get to their room, Quinn practically shoving her inside before following with a determined look on her face. Rachel would probably be wary, if she wasn't so excited by these new developments.

Rachel's back slams against the door, her weight closing it with a thud, which is followed by a deep groan when Quinn bites down on her bottom lip before she pulls away, leaving Rachel slumped against the door.

Well.

Okay.

Apparently, her birthday, Christmas and New Year's wishes are _all_ about to come true.

* * *

Quinn places the still-full bottle of alcohol on the desk and she can't help a snicker as Rachel rolls her eyes. "I actually think the idiot is growing on me," Quinn says.

"That's just because he gave you booze."

"Us," Quinn clarifies. "He gave _us_ booze, baby. Because we're celebrating."

"What are we celebrating?"

Quinn shrugs. "Everything," she says. "So, I suggest you get ready, because there are parties going on all over this place, Rach, which really means nobody's going to hear you scream."

Rachel's breath catches.

Quinn's grin is entirely too mischievous, and Rachel's starting to reconsider just what she's asked for.

Rachel just stares as she moves away from her. Time seems to go in slow motion for her as she watches Quinn pull the chair from the desk over to the middle of the room and orders Rachel to sit because, okay, this is actually happening.

She gulps down hard when Quinn places both hands on the arm rests and leans in to give her a dirty, openmouthed kiss full of tongue and teeth and promise, until Rachel whimpers and her shoulders slacken as she relaxes into the seat, waiting in anticipation for Quinn's next move.

Rachel watches in interest as Quinn picks up the bottle again and uncaps it as she moves over to Rachel's portable Bluetooth speaker to connect her phone. She spends the next few seconds scrolling through the playlist Rachel knows Quinn spent an hour putting together this afternoon.

When Quinn finds what she's looking for, she smiles, but doesn't press play. Instead, she turns to look at Rachel and says, "Don't move."

Rachel blinks. "What?"

"Don't you move a muscle," Quinn instructs. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" she asks, her voice a little high.

Quinn just laughs at her, obviously enjoying this more than anything, and then ducks into the bathroom, closing the door behind her with an audible click.

Rachel sits, a little bewildered. Already turned on, beyond excited and still wary and nervous, because Quinn looks as if she has something particularly torturous planned for her.

Which is merely confirmed when Quinn emerges from the bathroom ten minutes later, dressed in her red, red hot cheerleading uniform.

Rachel audibly gulps at the sight of her.

Obviously, Rachel's seen pictures and videos of Quinn in this outfit before, but nothing compares to the sight of that gorgeous body wearing that uniform so snugly that there's so little left to the imagination. She doesn't even know where to look, her eyes darting over Quinn's long limbs to take in all she can.

The moment Quinn steps out of the bathroom, the air changes around them. Quinn moves to stand in front of her, just out of reach. "Rachel Berry," she says, voice dripping with intent.

Rachel's pretty sure she's going to combust.

"Several things are about to happen right now," Quinn says, lifting her right hand to count them off. "One, I am going to dance a _very special_ routine for you," she says; "Two, I am going to strip for you." She stops, licks her lips so suggestively that Rachel barely recognises her. "And, three, well, I'm going to do some other things, but last, which, let's admit is really what we're all here for, is I'm going to fuck you so hard that you forget your entire name." Her smile is entirely too innocent. "Not just the Rachel, or the Berry, but the Barbra, too."

Rachel just stares, pretty sure her brain switched off long before Quinn even started speaking.

Okay then.

Quinn smiles just once, and then crosses the carpet towards the speaker, picks up some red and white pompoms Rachel is just now noticing, sucks in a deep breath, and presses play.

Rachel immediately recognises Panic! At the Disco's _Victorious_ , her heart jumping as Quinn slides a little to the right, and basically renders Rachel _stupid_ within seconds.

Until tonight, Rachel sometimes forgets Quinn _is_ actually a cheerleader, which means she's _really_ a flexible dancer, which really means there's untapped rhythm in that body, and Rachel has a front row ticket to the greatest show.

The routine is short, high energy, and Rachel seriously has nowhere she doesn't want to be looking. It's too much and not nearly enough, all at the same time, and she doesn't think she even breathes for the entire duration of Quinn's arms and Quinn's hips and Quinn's legs and those eyes and that smile doing all those things, and wow. She's very obviously enjoying herself.

Forty seconds later and Quinn is lifting her leg so high in the air that Rachel's jaw drops. Oh. Wow. Okay.

When the song comes to an abrupt end, Rachel's sure she can hear the blood rushing in her ears. Quinn shakes out her pompoms before throwing them into Rachel's lap, where they immediately slide off and land on the floor.

"You okay there, Broadway?"

She nods dumbly. "Uh huh."

"Still with me?"

"Barely."

Quinn grins at her, her chest still heaving from the exertion of her dance. Her eyes are bright and dangerous, and Rachel just wishes she would come closer. "Think you can handle what I have planned next?"

"I'll die trying."

Quinn laughs, happy and glorious, as she drifts back to the speaker to pick her next song. For the next part of her plan. When she's going to strip.

Rachel doesn't think she's ready.

While _she's_ stripped for Quinn twice already, this is the first time she's on the receiving end, and she's pleasantly surprised when the first beats of Halestorm's _I Get Off_ crackle through the speaker.

Quinn could have chosen any song and Rachel's mouth would've been watering, of course, but the fact that Quinn specifically went out of her way to choose something that's very suited to this moment makes her heart flutter as Quinn turns back to her with a smirk and her hips begin to sway to the rhythm.

The lights are already off, and the moonlight that bleeds through the window highlights Quinn's features, dark and focused. The perfect position of the chair showcases the shadows along her curves, her muscles, the slight sheen of sweat from dancing at the party and right now, and the flush of how flustered she already is. It's all a stark contrast against the dim lighting.

Add the fact that this song is practically about voyeurism and Quinn is slowly stalking her way towards her with that ridiculous bottle of alcohol in her hand, Rachel is already a goner. She's been a goner her entire existence, she's sure, because she suddenly feels as if everything has led up to this moment right here.

Her tongue glides across her dry lips and her body feels like it could melt onto the floor and be set on fire all at once. This is what Quinn does to her. This is what Quinn _does_ , and Rachel desperately, desperately wants to touch her.

As a result, Rachel tries reaching out to run her hands up Quinn's soft thighs when she's close enough, but they're slapped away with a tut.

"Nope," Quinn says.

Rachel tilts her head back to look up at her, which is just what Quinn needs, because she immediately uses her fingers to part Rachel's lips and pour a shot of the sweet liquor into her mouth. She kisses her straight after, their tongues gliding together until all they can taste is each other.

It's heady and intoxicating, and Rachel whimpers in appreciation and anticipation.

Quinn pulls away again, Rachel following her lips, only for Quinn to push back on her shoulder and shove the bottle into Rachel's hand before singing along with the song, " _and I could close the curtain, but this is too much fun_."

Well, isn't that cruel?

Rachel almost tells her just that, but her voice gets stuck in her throat at Quinn's next move, potentially surprising them both. Quinn pushes against Rachel to right herself, her hands already gliding over her own body as the tune picks up.

Quinn turns to face away from Rachel and starts at just under her skirt that she lifts up along the way to show Rachel a glimpse of the tight red _Spanx_ that barely cover her ass, grinning smugly to herself at Rachel's quiet moan. She looks back over her shoulder to see Rachel's bottom lip caught between her teeth before she twirls again, raking her nails up her abdomen, preening at the way Rachel's gaze is fixated on the motion of her muscles as she does.

Rachel can't help wondering where this girl has been all her life. Also, really, Quinn is much, much better at this whole stripping thing than she could ever be. There's just this sensuality to her that Rachel hasn't been able to master, but it seems so effortless on Quinn.

Quinn's hands move up over her chest before they make their way into her hair, messing it up in that 'freshly fucked' way Rachel obsesses over. She rolls her body as her head slings back, just as the chorus reaches its peak before the melody settles again.

Quinn walks forward again, making it look like she's going to kiss Rachel but turns her cheek at the last second, instead, and walks around the back of the chair, her fingers trailing up Rachel's arm as she sings down the opposite ear, " _it's so much more exciting, to look when you can touch_."

Rachel's neck strains to stay in position, not risking turning to face Quinn in case she gets in trouble for it, but as Quinn's breath ghosts over her ear and down her neck the same time Quinn's other hand trails up her thigh, she can't help but reach back.

Nothing.

Her hand touches nothing as Quinn spins away from her and she has to force herself not to whine, closing her eyes to help deal with the disappointment.

They shoot open when Quinn's nails dig in to her chest. Quinn, who is directly in front of her now and raking her nails over the material of her sweater. Quinn, who drops to her knees the same time as the song lyric. And, Quinn, whose hands find themselves on Rachel's knees, opening them and gliding up inside Rachel's shorts before she bounces up to straddle her.

For a moment, everything just goes very, very still. The great big world seems to fall away, shrinking down to this moment just between the two of them. Quinn grins a little, lopsided and childish, and Rachel is so, so in love.

"Are you ready?" Quinn asks.

Rachel wants to ask _for what?_ , given she's already been toyed with for the last few minutes, but Quinn is in her lap and looking at her with blown pupils, so all she does is nod.

Quinn doesn't waste a moment. Her hips move against Rachel's stomach for several beats, before she turns around so her ass is digging into Rachel's front.

Rachel's unable to hold back the whimper this time, the pressure making her grip on the arm rest and bottle tighten to the point she thinks she might snap it clean off or shatter the glass.

She can't decide if it's a blessing or a curse when Quinn takes a hold of her hands, moves the bottle to the floor and guides those hands under her top and up her toned stomach until they reach her bra. "Quinn..."

"Take it off."

Rachel will never admit how shaky her hands are as she does as instructed, first lifting the decidedly-sinful cheerleading top over Quinn's head, dropping it to the floor, and then just staring at Quinn's pale back right in front of her face.

"Oh," Quinn murmurs. "Did you not want to do it yourself?" She makes to move away, but Rachel reaches for her, fingers trailing along her sides and over to the clasp at her back. The lacy bra she has on doesn't seem all that practical for actual cheerleading, but Rachel definitely isn't going to mention that.

The next few seconds are a bit of a blur.

Her hips jerk when Quinn pushes down, and both of them groan when the bra is thrown somewhere over her shoulder. She barely gets a moment to register Quinn is now topless, before Quinn is spinning in her lap again, her chest perfectly level with Rachel's mouth.

It's an automatic reaction, truly, because she leans forward to taste, and then pouts when Quinn's hand slides in her hair and tugs. Hard.

"But - "

"You touch me when I say you can touch me."

 _Holy shit_.

Now, Rachel didn't know this was such a turn on for her until this moment. They've never really played with power dynamics before, but she can't fully admit she's not into it.

She _is_.

She's very, very into it.

Something heavy drops into her stomach, and she's not sure she's going to get through this night without spontaneously combusting.

She would probably enjoy it.

Just, you know, what a way to go.

"No touching," Quinn instructs again, and then proceeds to punish her when she makes Rachel watch as she plays with her own nipples instead, right in front of her eyes.

Rachel's transfixed, and her lips part in a half-moan/half-whine when Quinn takes a deep breath through her nose and her eyes flutter closed for a moment.

The music is dull in the back of Rachel's mind, her attention purely on Quinn as she stands up and slowly - so, _so_ slowly - thumbs the waistline of her skirt. Her gaze makes sure to meet and hold Rachel's before she pushes the skirt and _Spanx_ down her neverending long legs and kicks her shoes away.

It leaves her completely bare in front of Rachel, who gulps so loudly it can be heard over the music. "Like what you see, baby?"

"That's an absurd question, Quinn," Rachel finds herself saying. "You already know the answer."

"Do I?"

Quinn glances over at the speaker as if she knows the song is coming to an end and she looks glad for it. She looks back at Rachel. "You know, when I planned this, I wanted to have you on the edge of your seat; wanted you begging me to _hurry up_ , but seeing the look in your eyes, the way you're practically devouring me has thrown all my plans out the window."

Jesus Christ.

"I wanted to make it last longer than three minutes; wanted to wait until you were a whimpering mess." She tilts her head to the side. "I definitely didn't plan on stripping off completely before the song even ended, but now we're here, and I'm impatient." Her smirk is deadly. "Though, that still doesn't mean I can't make you a whimpering mess."

Quinn moves to reduce the volume of the music before she's back and straddling Rachel again, doing nothing but holding eye contact as the song fades out. They can still hear louder music from other parties being thrown in the hotel and she grins with delight and mischief.

"Maybe we really won't get a noise complaint, after all," Quinn murmurs.

Rachel's hands are shaking on the chair, her jaw clenched and Quinn runs her forefinger along the tight skin, marvelling at the goosebumps that erupt under her touch.

"You want to touch me?" Quinn asks, which gets her a jerky nod in response. "But you know you aren't allowed to, right? Not unless I say you can." Another, albeit reluctant, nod. "Say it, baby. Say you can't touch me unless I say, so I know you understand."

Rachel might actually hate her a little bit right now, but she forces herself to speak. "I can't touch you unless you tell me to."

"Good girl."

Rachel holds back a groan, because, yes, this is definitely something they're going to be exploring further. Her body is probably vibrating with _want_.

Quinn picks up the bottle again, repeating the motion of pouring some into Rachel's mouth before kissing her, and the taste of it is no less intoxicating this time around. She's high on Quinn in ways she didn't think was even possible.

When Quinn pulls away, it takes Rachel a little too long to recover, her eyes opening haltingly and the haze slow to dissipate. Quinn breaks for a split second and smiles softly at Rachel, giving her a peck before her mask returns and her infuriating smirk is back in place.

Rachel feels this warmth spread from her chest, enough to rival the way her body is already on fire.

"You know," Quinn says, placing the bottle back on the floor and shifting even closer so her front is just touching Rachel's, biting her lip at the small gasp the movement receives. "I really did plan this whole thing out." Her hand moves from Rachel's shoulder to her own collar bone. "Like I said, I was going to use the first song just to dance for you." The hand moves down to her chest. "Then I was going to use a second song to strip for you." She can see Rachel's breath pick up the moment she twists one of her own nipples between her thumb and finger. "And, then, the third one, I was going to force you to watch me get myself off on top of you."

Rachel whimpers. Her heart can't take it. Fuck. She's going to die at eighteen. " _Quinn_."

Quinn smiles in victory at the whine in Rachel's tone, as she pays attention to her other breast with her other hand and her right hand trails down her stomach. "But, we all know how impatient I can be, and I don't think it's fair to myself to hold off on what I want."

"What about what's fair to me?"

"I think you'll manage," Quinn says. "I mean, you don't have a choice. If you touch me, I stop, and you don't want me to go to bed unsatisfied, do you?"

Rachel watches as Quinn's fingers slide slowly up and down her inner thigh and wishes it was her tongue instead. "I'm pretty sure this is some form of emotional manipulation," she points out.

"Is that your asking me to stop?" Quinn asks, pausing momentarily. "Because your eyes are telling me otherwise."

"Don't you dare," Rachel almost growls.

Quinn chuckles. "I don't know, maybe I'll tease myself the same way you tease me. Take my time." She runs her middle finger through a surprising amount of wetness, purposely avoiding that little bundle of nerves that her body is so obviously aching for her to touch and brings that same finger up to smear along Rachel's lip, stopping her before her tongue pokes out to follow the path. "No."

It earns her an exasperated groan and Quinn hums, her hips jolting when the fingers on her nipple pinch a bit too hard and Rachel's eyes flick up to her, dark, dilated as if she knows what Quinn just did to herself and is jealous that she isn't the one to cause that response.

"So, what do you think, baby? Slow and teasing, or fast and hard?"

Rachel opens her mouth to speak but Quinn stops her, smiling a little evilly. She's enjoying this far too much, and Rachel is starting to think she's created a monster.

"Before you answer, you should know that whichever one you pick is the same treatment you're going to get."

Rachel's eyes widen because, okay, that's a hard choice.

On the one hand, she's buzzing with anticipation, and she wants to get to the part where she also gets to participate. But, also, it's their first time using a strap-on and, as much as she's ready to try it, she's honestly a little intimidated.

On the other, she's excited at the thought of Quinn willing herself to go slow while she gets herself off because, as she said, she's impatient. But, if she goes slow and teasing, there's more time before she can get her chance.

It's an agonising decision.

"Well?"

Quinn's hand moves back between her legs and the light hitch in her breathing tells Rachel she's putting pressure where she needs it and the thought causes her hips to buck up into Quinn's hand unintentionally, which in turn causes Quinn to moan out loud.

"You're the one in charge, Quinn, so it's your choice," she eventually says, deciding it's best to play it safe.

Quinn leans in and sucks her wetness off of Rachel's bottom lip with a whimper, murmuring, "Good answer," against her. There's a dangerous tint to her tone, and Rachel knows she's going to be dead by the end of this when Quinn kisses down her jaw, her voice lowering in that way she knows has Rachel's mind spinning.

They've had to work on talking during sex, given their escapades over the phone, but there's really nothing that could have prepared her for having Quinn's voice in her ear, breath on her neck and body in her lap.

"I wish you could feel how wet I am, baby," Quinn whispers, and Rachel's knuckles are white as they grip the chair. "Wish you could feel what you do to me, how my clit is _throbbing_." She nips Rachel's lobe as her hips start a rocking motion, her wrist catching against Rachel's stomach every time she tilts forward and Rachel can't help the jagged breath that escapes her. " _Begging_ for attention."

"M-maybe you s-should listen to it," Rachel stutters out, cursing herself for her inability to speak.

With a hum in Rachel's ear, Quinn's hands abandon her body in favour of lifting Rachel's sweater up to her ribs and running her centre up Rachel's abs once.

"Oh, fuck," Rachel involuntarily says, her eyes closing.

"You feel that?" Quinn purrs. "That's what you do to me, Rach. That's what happens every time I'm near you, every time I think about you. I could spend hours fucking myself to the thought of you and I'll still be ready to go again."

Rachel barely has time to recover from that image, whining when Quinn suddenly pulls back, stands, and then kneels between Rachel's legs.

"Lift your hips."

As soon as Rachel does, her shorts and panties are pulled down and off and Quinn bites her lip at the shine the moonlight greets her with. "You are so beautiful."

" _Please, Quinn_." It comes out in a breathless beg, and she would be embarrassed if she wasn't so desperate for something. Anything.

"Please what?"

Rachel doesn't even know. She doesn't know if she's asking for Quinn to touch her, to let her touch Quinn, or for Quinn to touch herself. She just doesn't know. "Just do something. Anything. Everything."

What she isn't expecting her question to be answered with is Quinn running her tongue up Rachel's stomach to clean her off with a satisfied smack of her lips. Rachel's hand moves of its own accord before stopping short above Quinn's head and Quinn glances up at her with a smirk. "Now, you're learning."

Rachel flushes at the obvious pride in her voice. What is happening to her? Seriously.

Quinn turns and sits in Rachel's lap again, spreading her legs over Rachel's, her back flush against Rachel's front. Her left hand moves behind her to hold Rachel's neck and her right slowly makes its way down her body until she stops at her hip, running her middle finger smoothly across her hip bone.

Rachel squirms under her. "Go on," she husks, her turn to be desperate and impatient. "I want to see."

It's the last ounce of control Quinn allows Rachel to have, a sharp inhale followed by a shuddering exhale as her fingers focus their ministrations directly on her clit and her thighs clench, ass juts back between Rachel's legs.

Rachel grits her teeth not to move her hands, especially when Quinn's breathing picks up the longer she spends applying different levels of pressure in different patterns until her head sags on Rachel's shoulder and her speed picks up. "It feels so good, baby. So good."

Whenever they do this over the phone, Rachel has to close her eyes to picture Quinn in action, but now she has it right in front of her; right on top of her. Not only can she hear her, but she can see and feel, and, God, it's everything.

Quinn's fingers move up and down her entire length and her breath hitches whenever she catches her clit before they circle her opening. "How many?" she asks, panting.

"Two."

Rachel doesn't realise she's leaning forward to kiss Quinn's neck until Quinn arches into her with a warning of her name.

"Come on, Quinn," she complains. "I feel like I might die if I don't do something, and, I mean, I'm not even using my hands," she begs, tone in that pathetic whine she uses when Quinn denies her something.

Quinn nods in defeat.

Thankfully, she isn't _that_ cruel.

Not tonight, at least.

Quinn whimpers out Rachel's name as soon as she enters herself, torn between focusing on the feel of how hot and slick she is, the heat from Rachel's body, or the teeth leaving bruises on her neck. Her back arches, her eyes close, and, if she even for one second considered going slow, that's now moot as her pace starts as brisk and fast as she means to go.

Rachel groans hotly down her ear as she watches Quinn's wrist move at a rapid pace, imagines those walls that have spent so much time clamping down on her own tongue and fingers, clamping down on Quinn's.

She focuses her ears on the sound being produced from between Quinn's legs and stares at the rise and fall of Quinn's chest as she pants and it's so amazing. More amazing than she ever could've thought possible for something she's not allowed to participate in.

Her hips grind against Quinn's ass subconsciously, the material from her sweater scraping at her nipples, and she has this sudden urge to claim. It's something that, up until this point, has been Quinn's thing, but her hands are itching to touch, to grab, to feel, to bruise, it doesn't even matter where. It could be Quinn's arm for all Rachel cares, but she needs to touch for her own sanity.

"You aren't going to last long, are you, Quinn?"

Quinn curses on top of her, her hips picking up their speed and hand grasping at Rachel's neck, body glistening with sweat. Rachel's teeth clamp down hard enough to leave an impression that'll probably bruise and, this time, Quinn's hips buck up with purpose. Quinn arches into her with a loud moan that Rachel is pretty certain can be heard over any party that's happening.

Quinn's body is flushed red as one of Rachel's hand bravely moves to Quinn's hip to hold it in place, using it selfishly to relieve some pressure of her own and the lack of movement causes Quinn's fingers to quicken to a pace Rachel isn't sure she'd be able to get without her unfair athletic abilities.

The slapping sound echoes around the walls and Rachel desperately wants to be a part of this, so she lifts Quinn's drenched thigh so her foot is on Rachel's knee and sends a quick thank you to the cheerleading gods for the flexibility.

She shuffles down so she can spread her own legs further under Quinn's and covers Quinn's hand with her own, almost expecting Quinn to deny her.

Quinn doesn't, and she's able to add extra force before placing one delicate finger behind Quinn's so that it joins inside to the first knuckle.

Quinn's mouth slackens and a long, deep moan is drawn out of her at the extra width, her hips jutting, moving slower and deeper, the palm of her hand grinding on her clit each time she pushes in.

Rachel can feel Quinn _dripping_ onto her as a fresh wave of wetness escapes Quinn at the intrusion of Rachel's added finger. "Is that okay?" comes out of her mouth before she can consciously form the words.

"God, I'm so close," Quinn forces out. "So fucking close. I just need..." she trails off, desperately chasing her release. "Rachel," she begs.

It happens pretty quickly after that. , The finger guiding Quinn's curls up, making Quinn's curl up also and hit that special spot that has her body trembling seconds before white heat clouds her vision and her body stiffens as she screams out Rachel's name.

Rachel watches in awe, the way Quinn's back snaps into an arch, thighs quiver and toes curl and she gently pulls Quinn's hand away, replacing it with her own. She moans low at the feel of silky walls rippling around her and clit pulsing into a steady beat as Quinn comes down from her orgasm.

Quinn takes one last shuddering breath before she collapses on top of Rachel, aware of how uncomfortable Rachel must be with her back against the hard chair and tilts her head to bring her into a messy kiss before she sighs. "Holy shit."

A chuckle sounds around the silent room as Rachel allows Quinn this moment of recovery. It would be longer, but she's still worked up and Quinn made some lofty promises.

With a grunt, she lifts a limp Quinn up onto shaky legs and guides them over to the bed, laying her down gently before covering her body with her own and kissing her lazily.

It doesn't take Quinn much longer to recover and, before Rachel knows it, she's on her back as Quinn's hair hides them from the outside world. "You ruined my plans."

"You thought it would be a good idea to get yourself off on top of me and expect me not to participate," Rachel murmurs. "We both know you ruined your own plans."

"Totally worth it."

After a few moments, spent recovering, Quinn jumps up and walks over to the drawers, pulling the bottom one open and giving Rachel a perfect view of her ass. When she turns back, she's holding the hot pink silicone and raising a questioning eyebrow at Rachel. "I know we've already discussed this at length, but I still have to ask: is this still okay?"

Rachel nods, still supremely turned on, and the way Quinn is holding it isn't helping matters.

"Are you sure?" Quinn asks.

Rachel practically growls, because they're not going through this again, which is why she resorts to the one thing she thinks this particular Quinn in this particular moment will respond to. "If you don't get over here and fuck me, Fabray, then I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands."

Quinn scoffs as she moves towards her, eventually towering over Rachel on the bed. "Hmm, because that worked out so well for me."

Rachel remains silent as she watches Quinn eye the straps adorably before she shrugs.

She'll figure it out.

Quinn's balance is a little off, legs still trembling after her orgasm, and, if Rachel wasn't busy swallowing down her anticipation, she'd probably make fun of Quinn. Still, she watches everything, trying to commit it all to memory.

It's not long until Quinn has her legs through the straps and is pulling them up over her hips, tightening them until they feel comfortable and secure and she tugs on the silicone to try it out, the pressure against her sensitive clit causing her to gasp softly.

She looks at Rachel, the silent question in her eyes.

"Come here," is all Rachel says.

Hesitance gone, Quinn climbs onto the bed and settles her weight on Rachel, who giggles when the cold silicone lands on her stomach and Quinn smiles gently, reassuringly, at the wariness she's trying to hide.

"We don't have to do this tonight," Quinn says, trying to give her the option to call the entire thing off once more.

"No, I want to," Rachel says, firmly. "I've just never - "

"I know."

Quinn leans down to kiss her, slow and precise until she feels Rachel relax under her and moves her hips experimentally. Her kisses move down Rachel's neck before she ducks lower, lifting the sweater so it bunches up under her bra and nips and licks down Rachel's abdomen, never breaking eye contact with her as she moves lower, and lower, and lower.

She knows Rachel must already be wound up. She knows she would be, but she also knows she needs to help calm Rachel's nerves before she puts something foreign inside her, needs to make sure Rachel is truly ready and wanting this and not just putting on a brave face because she's the one who asked to try.

A gentle kiss at the top of Rachel's mound has the tension in her back dissipating and legs spreading, almost automatically. Her fingers move down to comb through Quinn's hair and Quinn licks her lips at the smell she's greeted with, wanting nothing more than to dive in and get to work.

Still, she waits until the smallest of nods from Rachel before she does.

It's the only go-ahead she needs, that slight tilt of confirmation, and her tongue swipes through Rachel's folds, broad and slow before she takes Rachel's clit in her mouth and sucks gently, her tongue lightly circling and the vibrations of her moan hitting Rachel directly where they're intended.

She will never, ever get used to the way Rachel tastes, in all of the best ways possible.

Addicting.

Out of this world.

She doesn't think even the best chefs in the world could create anything like it: the sweet, bitter, slightly salty taste of something that can't ever exist anywhere else. She might consider trying, maybe, but she knows it's one of a kind.

But now isn't the time for this. Now is about relaxing Rachel so she can enjoy what's about to happen. It's about making her girlfriend comfortable enough so that Quinn knows it's something that she actually wants to do; not just something she _says_ she wants to do.

Quinn doesn't spend long between Rachel's legs, regrettably. Just enough time for slow, gentle licks until Rachel's breath has shortened and her hips are squirming, just enough that when Quinn pushes first one finger inside, and then two, there's no resistance and Rachel's grip in her hair tightens, silently asking for more.

She'll give her this and the world.

She moves back up, replacing her tongue with her finger and circling Rachel's clit. She dips into her every couple of swipes as she kisses along Rachel's jaw until her entire body feels boneless and she nods for Quinn to go ahead.

Quinn leans over to grab the lube her ever-prepared girlfriend remembered to bring from its position on the nightstand, pouring a generous amount into her palm before spreading it over the silicone and using the last remnants on her hand to move over Rachel.

Here, she pauses, just looking down at her girlfriend and wondering just how she got so lucky. It still amazes her that any of this is even happening.

Rachel reaches for her, and Quinn settles back between her legs, moving her hips so the strap-on rubs against Rachel's clit and smirks when Rachel's mouth opens and eyes flutter shut. "Oh."

"You ready, baby?"

Rachel's eyes open just enough for her to look at Quinn. "Uh huh," she murmurs. "Just go slow."

"Of course."

Her hand reaches down to wrap around the silicone, angling it until she finds Rachel's opening and pushes forward a little to slip in, feels Rachel clamp down in reflex and continues to circle her clit until Rachel relaxes again and pushes further. She repeats the process until her hips are flush against Rachel and she moves to cage Rachel's body between her elbows, watching in wonder as Rachel's mouth opens when she realises Quinn is fully inside her.

Quinn peppers her face with quick kisses as her hips shift so she's comfortable. "Let me know when it's okay to move."

After a moment, Rachel nods at her and she begins moving back and forth slowly, letting Rachel get accustomed to this new feeling, and it isn't long until Rachel is panting beneath her.

"Feel good?"

Rachel's brow furrows, as if she's concentrating on an answer. "Yeah, yeah, but, a b-bit weird."

"Try wrapping your legs around me."

Within moments, Rachel does as instructed, and her eyebrows shoot up at the new angle it creates.

Quinn smirks. "There we go."

She thrusts slowly, almost lazily for a while, until Rachel eventually starts squirming underneath her and short, frustrated whines escape her throat, which Quinn takes as her cue to go harder, deeper.

She places her hand on Rachel's hip as her pace increases, leans her forehead against Rachel's to watch out for any signs of discomfort, glad when she finds nothing but pleasure gracing her features. She twists her hips in a circle every time she pushes forward, and Rachel throws her head back as the toy scrapes against her front wall, her legs tightening around Quinn's waist as her hips buck up to meet her thrust for thrust.

"Oh, fuck." Rachel pants against Quinn's cheek as her hands find place on her shoulders, short nails digging into the flesh.

"I love fucking you like this," Quinn says, and she finds she means it. Why was she ever sceptical about this? This is probably the greatest damn night of her life.

The hand on Rachel's hip grips harder as she helps her move until Rachel is a mumbling mess beneath her.

Rachel subconsciously tightens around Quinn so her back is nearly off the bed as Quinn pushes into her that much harder, and Rachel wails as Quinn bites down hard on her neck.

Rachel's hand moves down to dig her nails into Quinn's ass, silently pleading for her to go harder, faster, deeper. "Please, please."

Quinn hums as if she's contemplating something, and then she flips them over so Rachel is on top, which is apparently a surprise, given the gasp Rachel releases as she sinks onto the toy.

"Quinn," she murmurs, a little disoriented.

Quinn nods at her, placing her hands of Rachel's hips, which suddenly know to start a rocking motion. Quinn pulls her against the toy as she pushes up, guides her in a way she knows will have the toy rubbing against that spot inside her that's bound to turn her into a complete disaster.

She growls as one of Rachel's hands finds support on the wall in front of her and the other falls to Quinn's collarbone, her fingers curling around her shoulder and digging in. The weird feeling Rachel felt initially has transformed into an overwhelming feeling of intense pleasure as Quinn's name rolls repeatedly off her tongue... before she can't find words all together.

"Quinn," Rachel groans, her eyes closing. She's almost there.

At this point, usually, Quinn will curl her fingers or suck her clit to push her over that final hurdle, but the toy can't do that. It can get the angles - _god,_ can it get the angles - but there's something it's missing and she needs that -

"Look at me, baby."

Rachel's eyes flutter open, a struggle since every time she grinds down on Quinn, they decide to close again but Quinn growls out the order once more and they snap open completely, focusing on Quinn's dark gaze and flushed cheeks.

"Watch," Quinn says, as her right thumb travels to Rachel's clit, rubbing hard circles as fast as Rachel's movements.

A one, two, three press of Quinn's thumb and a _come for me, Rachel_ has her flying over the edge. Her knees try to close themselves but are restricted by Quinn's body, the hand on the wall digging into the plaster it rests on and the hand around Quinn's shoulder managing to draw blood.

Her dazed eyes blink open and she can feel herself twitching around the toy until it becomes too much for her and she uses the last bit of energy she feels to lift herself off. She groans as it slips out and sends another jolt of pleasure through her before she sags on the bed next to Quinn, flinging an arm over her eyes as she tries to catch her breath.

Quinn shuffles around to throw the toy across the room - they'll deal with it later - before she pulls Rachel on top of her once more, staring at the top of her head fondly before kissing her forehead. "I am so in love with you."

She feels Rachel smile against her shoulder before she gives Quinn a thumbs up, her hand falling down gracelessly on Quinn's chest, which makes the blonde chuckle.

"How do you feel?" Quinn asks.

Rachel lifts her head tiredly with a lazy smirk. "Your fingers are definitely better."

Quinn laughs, almost in relief.

"But it was good, _really_ good, once I got past the weird feeling." She leans down to kiss Quinn. "I love you too, by the way."

Quinn just wraps her arms tighter around her, feeling oddly weightless. She's a little wound up, but she's too exhausted to do anything about it. She's also sure Rachel is halfway asleep.

They have all night.

They have all year.

They have the rest of their lives.

Her eyes slip closed, and her body relaxes that bit more into the mattress as she slowly drifts to sleep. But, first, she has to say something very important: "Remind me to thank Simon in the morning."

" _Quinn_."

She laughs softly, and falls asleep with a smile.

Happy New Year, indeed.


End file.
